


Bohème Rhapsody

by Lilia



Series: Bohème Rhapsody [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Braeden, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Liam, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Theo Raeken, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Babies, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Has Sex With Everyone, Everyone is Bisexual, F/F, F/M, Fem-preg, Kid Fic, Knotting, M/M, Omega Corey Bryant, Omega Hayden Romero, Omega Lydia Martin, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Omegas are polyamorous, Omegas love sex, Oral Sex, Orphan Lydia Martin, Orphan Stiles Stilinski, Polyamory, Pregnant Lydia, Prostitution, Rare Pairings, Rentboy Stiles Stilinski, Sex Work, Spanking, Stiles Never Knew Scott McCall, Streetkid Stiles, domestic angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilia/pseuds/Lilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was times like this that Lydia wondered how on earth she’d gotten to this point: a year ago she’d been the carefree omega mistress of Peter Hale, a handsome, wealthy Alpha, who was amazing in bed, who was paying her tuition to Stanford, and who wouldn’t dream of demanding exclusivity of an omega. </p><p>Now, she was an unmated omega nearing the end of a high-risk pregnancy, living in a run-down tenement, dependent for just about everything on a needy, hyperactive omega rent-boy and an obdurate, humorless Alpha with a hero complex, who just so happened to be her ex-lover's nephew. </p><p>It sounded like the set-up for one of the more depressing Puccini operas.</p><p>Basically my attempt at a La Bohème/Rent/Teen Wolf mash-up, only not a tragedy and set in the Omegaverse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

_Christmas Eve, a garret apartment in a bedraggled neighborhood in Beacon Hills, CA_

_Scene opens on a very pregnant Lydia Martin, who is wearing a pink polyester bathrobe and lying on a king-sized bed with a dark purple coverlet and dozens of pillows. The bed is the only new piece of furniture in the roomy garret apartment, which came ready furnished with an orange-and-green chintz sofa c. 1974, a pressed-wood coffee table, a bureau that screams “dorm-room cast-off” holding an actual cathode-ray TV, currently turned to Fox News. A more recent addition is a (maybe/sorta stolen) outdoor café table with two chairs which Stiles “found,” that serves as her dining-room set._

_About fifteen steps to the right of the bed is the door to a tiny bathroom with all new fixtures. Against the far wall is a kitchen area with a rust-stained farmhouse sink, deep enough for a toddler to take a shower in, a claw-foot bathtub with ply-wood on top of it to create extra storage space, a new refrigerator and ¾ sized stove, along with about eight inches of yellow Formica counter with a single drawer and cabinet beneath. The apartment itself features exposed brick walls and large dormer windows. With nicer furniture and a proper renovation the effect might be “shabby-chic,” but in its current state it’s just really fucking shabby._

 

Lydia glanced at the TV just in time to see Gerard Argent declaim, “Our great nation is under threat. Our families, our children, our very way of life. It is not too much to say that the very pillars of our civilization are at stake in this election.”

The camera panned over to Peter, who was smiling like the proverbial cat munching away on the poor doomed canary. _Oh God, here it came_. “Forgive me, Gerard, if I just don’t see how allowing omegas the freedom to cuddle and bonk to their little hearts’ content threatens the pillars of anything, let alone civilization. Some might argue that what this world needs is more omega hedonism not less.”

Megyn Kelly smothered a guffaw, and Bill O’Reilly looked like he was having a hernia. No doubt some poor network minion was frantically scrambling to figure out if they needed to bleep the word _bonk_.

Lydia had to hand it to Gerard Argent. He might be a despicable Alpha-rule fascist, but he didn’t lose his cool, smiling grimly. “My colleague is flippant _as usual_ ,” he said in that sonorous rumble of his. “Too bad some of those same sweet, innocent omegas he’s so intent on defending are at this very moment engaging in cyber-terrorist attacks on some of America’s most trusted corporations, businesses responsible for tens of thousands of jobs, including thousands held by ordinary, law-abiding omegas.”

It was a very good answer, but Lydia should have known better than to underestimate her ex, who was sporting that phony perplexed look that always made her want to slap it off of him. “Gerard _puhlease_ , cyber-terrorism? Don’t you think that’s a little strong for a few pranks by some omega teenagers?”

Both answers were equally disingenuous: repeatedly hacking the Argent pack servers and posting everything on the internet did not amount to cyber-terrorism, but it was considerably more than a prank.

It had been almost six months since Lydia had seen Peter in person, and watching him on the screen, it was impossible to tell if he knew anything more about the hack. Though he’d do anything to take down the Argents, hacking really didn’t sound like Peter. And then there was the fact that the omega responsible had claimed credit in a series of Vines in which he called himself “Omegatron” superimposed on clips from Michael Bay’s _Transformer_ movies. Lydia was almost positive Peter didn’t know what a Vine was, and naming yourself after a character from _Transformers_? Ugh. No way that was Peter.

Megyn Kelly thanked both her guests and then segued, gracefully but predictably, into, “Santa’s definitely going to need Rudolph’s help tonight in California. The entire northern quarter of the state received four inches of snow today, and it’s still falling. Erica Reyes is live in Beacon Hills—Erica, are the good folks in Beacon Hills excited about their first white Christmas in more than two decades?”

“You bet they are, Megyn….”

Lydia flipped the TV off. Let Stiles call her Grinch, but she loathed Christmas and had declared her apartment a holiday-free zone; and since she was trapped in here by this fucking bed rest, she could be forgiven for not wanting to hear yet again how _thrilled_ everyone was about a few inches of snow.

However, she did permit herself a few moments of wishing she’d been backstage at the Fox News studio, helping Peter with his talking points and (she had to admit) meeting Megyn Kelly. Screw her politics: the woman was smart, gorgeous, and one of the most influential omega journalists in the world. Lydia would have traded her favorite Manolo Blahnik’s for the chance to meet her.

But it was just a moment. Lydia ran a hand over her gargantuan belly, rolling her eyes as her daughter launched another of her roundhouse kicks. Regret was for losers, the drug of choice for the weak-minded, and she refused to partake.

She glanced at the corner of her laptop. Fuck, it was already 4:58. She quickly deleted her browser history. After she’d come down with gestational disequilibrium, the supposedly “harmless” condition sometimes affecting omegas which left her too dizzy to move without help, Dr. Deaton had warned it was her body’s way of telling her she needed to reduce stress. Of course Derek and Stiles had freaked out and bullied her into promising to avoid any news about Peter’s senate run. _Yeah right_. But since fighting with them did cause stress, she prudently kept her news habit to those hours she was alone.

She rechecked a few more footnotes to her thesis as she heard the scratch of the key in the first lock to her apartment door—immediately followed by locks two and three. Nice that some things in life were predictable: she’d told Stiles not to come back before five; it was 5pm on the dot.

“Were you waiting outside my door?” she yelled, as she corrected the formatting on a final note before closing her laptop.

“No!” he answered, bristling with indignation. In his defense, he was still bundled up in his parka and that unspeakable blue and orange striped scarf he loved so much. “Jeez, Lydia, way to massacre a guy’s confidence—I guess you don’t want this latte… That’s fine, I’ll drink it.”

“Stiles!” she snapped. “You walk out of this apartment with that latte and you walk out of my life for good.”

He snorted. “Calm down, Amanda.”

“What did I tell you about ‘Melrose Place’ allusions?”

“That you adore them almost as much as you do me,” he smirked, giving her the cup. He shed his outerwear and took off everything but his Ironman T-shirt and matching briefs, taking advantage of her apartment’s sauna-like conditions. When Derek had gotten it renovated right before she moved in, the contractor had done something to the boiler which directed most of the heat to the units in her line, leaving the rest of the apartments to freeze.

Stiles curled up in bed next to her, kissing her impossibly huge stomach. “Hello Mimi. How’s my favorite goddaughter? Have you been a good girl for your mommy today?”

“She’s been a brat—she hasn’t stopped kicking all day.”

“Any contractions?” he asked.

“No! Not even any Braxton Hicks,” Lydia said, and then took a long sip of the latte, practically moaning in pleasure. Stiles’ job at the espresso bar paid a pittance, but he did make a fantastic latte.

Thank god Stiles didn’t imitate a certain Alpha in her life by pitching a fit when she explained that, yes, she was aware that every other pregnant woman in America gave up coffee, but since there was no actual scientific evidence of harm from the beverage, _she_ would not be following the herd by sacrificing one of life’s greatest pleasures out of some Puritanical notion that she should be willing to go without for the sake of her unborn child _just in case_. Especially since the caffeine was the only thing that seemed to help with the dizziness brought on by her condition, enabling her to at least read and watch TV during this bed rest catastrophe.

She took another sip, trying to ignore the complaints from her bladder, which _could wait two more fucking minutes_. Ugh—now that she’d hit the final weeks, the damn organ thought it ran her life.

“Fuck, I could jerk off just watching you drink coffee,” Stiles moaned, pulling her robe aside to rub his face against her abdomen.

“Stiles, you could jerk off watching me—or anyone—do data entry.”

“Oh My God—don’t tease me!” he cried, his nuzzling graduating to licking. Since she’d been put on bed rest, she’d taken to wearing nothing but a light bathrobe, a hideous pink polyester number that came in a six-pack—like tube socks or men’s undershirts. Stiles had found them for her at a street fair in Chinatown. In her old life, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in it, and it was definitely going straight in the trash the moment she gave birth. But for now the fabric was silk- _like_ and comfortable in her overheated apartment. With six of them, she always had a clean one, and most important she didn’t risk the late-pregnancy fluid rush ruining her good cashmere robe.

The pregnancy books talked blandly about omegas’ “increased fluid production” in the week leading up to delivery, necessary to help prepare male omegas’ narrower channels for birth. But they all skipped over the fact that female omegas experienced if anything more “fluid production,” and that the flow was enough to soak through the special mats _and_ an ordinary bath towel in a few hours.

She looked down to realize her ridiculous neighbor had actually latched onto her breast and was sucking, his eyes closed in seeming ecstasy. She smacked his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He looked up, eyes wide. “Nursing,” he said, the picture of innocence.

She smacked him again. “Nursing! You little shit!”

“Hey, no kink-shaming!”

“Kink-shaming!” Lydia wondered for the thousandth time how she kept herself from throttling him. “Stiles, you are aware that I’m on bed rest, correct?”

“Since I’m the one getting you to the toilet and making all your meals and eating you out when you ask…”

“Stiles! Nursing produces Pitocin, the hormone which induces labor.”

“Oh my god, Lydia…” he cried, totally panicking.

“Stiles, shut up! _Shut up!_ It’s fine, though how you didn’t learn this—or apparently anything useful—in your omega health class, I will never understand. Dr. Deaton says I’m past the danger zone for premature birth. But I’m trying to get my thesis done before the baby comes. And anyway, this baby is not being born on Christmas. I am not going to spend the next sixty years of my life listening to you say _Sweet Baby Jesus—or Mimi!_ ”

“Sixty years?” he said, unable to hide the hope in his tone.

_Yes Stiles, you are totally stuck with us—we are not going anywhere._

She’d not meant to touch on his abandonment issues and gave him a deep kiss on the mouth. “Just let me get through this horrible holiday, and then I promise to let you _nurse_ to your heart’s content, deal? I’ll even let you try once the baby’s born if you really want.”

“Really? Oh my god, you’re the greatest, Lydia.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“I wonder what the milk tastes like,” he mused, licking his lips.

“I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

“You didn’t see Theo today, did you?” he asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“It’s not like I’m strolling the halls much—but he didn’t knock on the door.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t have. He’s probably still at his _big_ job. I mean it’s kind of a screw to have to work on the holidays. Then again, I guess that’s what he’s doing— _screwing_ , you know.”

“I got the joke,” Lydia said.

“Well, if he gets off, maybe we could invite him to, like, watch a movie or something.”

“A movie sounds nice,” was all she said. _Riiiight_ —and the day that Stiles could sit through a whole two-hour movie in the company of Theo Raeken without being fucked at least once was the day she’d cave in to his badgering and start hoarding canned goods for the zombie apocalypse.

Lydia had mixed feelings about their Alpha-whore neighbor. (And yes, it was slut-shamey and insulting to sex-workers, a topic Lydia had very firm opinions on, but _Jesus fucking Christ_ , if ever an Alpha deserved the term, it was Theo fucking Raeken.) But Stiles had started showing signs of omega touch starvation, which were getting worse by the day. And he could fondle and nurse and eat her out all he wanted—he was not going to find what he was looking for in her body. Theo at least was willing— _good god was he willing_ —usually available, and most important, able to spend five minutes in a room with Stiles without their breaking into a screaming match.

“Speaking of movies,” he said, nuzzling her pussy. “We never picked one for tonight—though I still don’t see why we can’t watch _Die Hard_. I mean yes, it’s sort of a Christmas movie, but one with explosions and people getting thrown off roofs and stuff. And also Alan Rickman, who’s completely hot.”

“Stiles, if you suggest _Die Hard_ again, we will be watching _The Notebook_.”

“Oh my god, not again!” he sputtered.

He was opening his mouth, when she cut him off. “Do not say _Dark Knight Rises_.”

“Jeeze! Fine, let’s just finish our _Supernatural_ season four marathon—we can even skip the Christmas episode.”

“Deal.”

“How did the thesis go today? Poly….what’s the title again?” he murmured. He could never remember. Lydia suspected Stiles had a genius level IQ, but between the ADHD and dropping out of school during 10th grade, his knowledge base leaned heavily towards pop culture and technology rather than abstruse academic subjects. And in fairness to Stiles, Lydia was no better at remembering the titles of his favorite manga or comic books than he was of her comparative anthropology thesis.

“ _Omega Packs: Household Structures in Polytheistic Cultures_. And it’s basically done. I’m just rechecking the footnotes, making sure the committee has no excuse to reject it.”

“No way they won’t—you’re too smart.” He smiled at her, his face wet with her slick, which really should not be that adorable.

“They’d better not,” she said, but Lydia wasn’t ignorant of the explosive implications of her research on how omegas arranged their lives before the great monotheistic faiths instituted Alpha-rule morality. “How was your work today, dear?”

“Why, thank you for asking. It was absolutely riveting—they are adding a new line of Turkish-style coffee.”

“Lovely. But on that note.” Her bladder had graduated from whining to loud hectoring.

“Time to hit the showers?”

“Fuck,” she groaned as she shifted her legs to the side of the bed. After five weeks of this, they had it down to a routine. As she waited out the flare of dizziness that accompanied any movement, Stiles gathered up the towel and pad she’d been sitting on, tossing both into a labeled laundry bag to be picked up by the service (thank you, Derek) later tonight.

“You good?” he asked and when she nodded, he bent down so she could put her arm over his shoulders and let him slowly guide her to her feet.

Where they waited _again_ for the dizziness to pass. After her second bad fall, which caused her to briefly experience contractions, they’d finally learned not to rush any stage of this. Next came the excruciatingly slow journey of an entire fifteen feet to reach her microscopic bathroom.

“Shower or toilet?” he asked, wagging his eyes like he was hopeful for the toilet.

“Shower,” she huffed. She was way past any embarrassment she might have felt with Stiles, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed her nosy, filthy-minded neighbor’s apparent fascination will _all_ of her bodily functions including bowel movements.

Stiles helped her lean against the sink, as he turned the shower on and then stripped the rest of the way to nothing but his Hale pack collar, which couldn’t be removed. Once the water was hot enough, she slipped off her robe and let him help her up the four-inch step into the shower. She took a moment to pee standing up, waited until the last trace of burning yellow was gone, and then let Stiles guide her to sit down on the plastic folding chair which he’d found on the street and scrubbed— _with bleach three times_ —in lieu of (Derek) having to buy or rent one of those ridiculously pricy hospital commodes.

Lydia closed her eyes and leaned back, just letting the water flow over her face, relishing the sensation of not being sticky and damp, of feeling clean and a tiny bit like her usual self—not the 170-pound pregnant cow she’d turned into.

Stiles’ hands were gentle as he ran the expensive lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner (Derek’s purchase) through her hair, adjusting the shower spray to rinse. He moved in front and took his time soaping her breasts and stomach, which felt heavenly, moving down and soaping her legs, spending extra time massaging her feet.

These quiet moments with him were her favorite part of the day. She’d known intellectually that omegas thrived when they had daily physical contact with each other, but she’d never actually had it as an adult.

He used the hand-held sprayer to clean between her legs, and then lavished her pussy with his talented tongue. Since the premature labor scare, she was officially off orgasms, which also produced Pitocin, but she enjoyed feeling aroused, and they both relished the closeness. While he was happily occupied, she ran a dab of shampoo through his buzzed hair, wishing she could suck him off or otherwise return the favor.

Even before the GD hit, they usually didn’t have sex. Stiles could get aroused with her, but his real dirty secret—infinitely more compromising in his opinion than wanting to nurse from his pregnant best friend—was that he found it almost impossible to get off without an Alpha. If he was unusually relaxed and focused, he could manage it with the right porn (i.e. those starring their friendly downstairs neighbor) and something with an Alpha scent—usually underwear. Lydia had opted not to ask how he got hold of them, but he seemed to have quite the collection. But it didn’t always work, and wearing a Hale pack collar, he was, as intended, finding it next to impossible to get Johns, or even quickies, at any of his old haunts.

The one exception to Stiles’ sex drought was the abovementioned Theo, who was that rarity, an Alpha sex worker. He’d had a successful run as a porn star under the ludicrous name “Cody Knots” and now made a small fortune servicing wealthy omegas. One would think his professional _exertions_ would leave him too sated for off-the-books pursuits, but no. He’d been more than willing to demonstrate his talents for his two upstairs omega neighbors.

And Lydia had to concede, the Alpha was talented. His shtick was a tad practiced, but she couldn’t fault his technique—or his stamina, which was saying something since Peter had loved to boast that she was insatiable, and Stiles made her look like a nun. He was more Stiles’ type than hers, but in Theo’s defense, he had an instinct for their quite different needs in bed, effortlessly shifting tacks between orders and spankings for Stiles and whispered compliments and teasing for her. However, Theo had scored a ten-day job at a client’s mansion in the suburbs, so Stiles’ libido was SOL.

There was a slight drop in water pressure, which was Stiles’ signal to jump up and turn off the shower before they were doused in ice-cold water—such, she’d learned, were the vagaries of tenement plumbing.

Ten minutes later she was back in bed, dressed in a clean pink robe, with a fresh pad and towel underneath. Stiles pulled out his _Android Dungeon_ T-shirt and a pair of ancient hospital scrubs decorated with kittens in various pastel shades. The clothes were part of a steady migration of items from his unit across the hall, which admittedly barely had heat and boasted a seventies-era “kitchenette” with two rusted burners and a disgusting half-fridge which Stiles kept unplugged to save on electricity.

“So, now for our Christmas Eve anti-feast, what do you say to a highly festive stir-fry?”

“That’d be lovely,” Lydia said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Without question, she would owe Stiles for the rest of her life for all his help since the GD hit, and she truly considered him the best friend she’d ever had. But his cooking repertoire was extremely limited, consisting of stir-fry, boxed mac’n’cheese, hamburgers, and spaghetti with jarred sauce—Lydia refused to eat ramen, no matter how bad her budget.

At least the stir-fry boasted vegetables—i.e. some desperately needed fiber—so they’d mostly eaten that.

As Stiles analyzed the fridge contents, she opened her laptop and launched Netflix. “Can you remember what episode we were on?”

But before Stiles could answer, she heard the scrape of a key in her lock, which could only be one person, who was supposed to be in Lake Tahoe for the holiday and of course hadn’t texted.

Over in the kitchen, Stiles looked ready to explode. Lydia braced herself—she was nine months pregnant and on her fifth week of bed rest. She _so_ did not need this shit!

Locks two and three followed, and the next moment Derek entered. 


	2. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a tiny bit of retcon here to fill out the idea of the "pack omega," a non-related omega claimed as a dependent of the pack.

“Yo! Asshole, I thought you weren’t getting back ‘til Thursday,” Stiles said by way of hello.

“I cut my trip short,” Derek said. To her he added in that awkward, formal way of his, “Merry Christmas. How are you feeling?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?” she replied, the picture of demure omega propriety.

Stiles was dramatically rolling his eyes as Derek answered, “I’m well, thank you. I brought some food in case you hadn’t eaten.” He held up two bags from _Beyoglu_ , a pricy Turkish restaurant near Peter’s apartment that she’d mentioned—once, a year ago—as a favorite. “I didn’t know what you liked so I got _manti_ , _hunker begendi_ , lamb _yogurtlu_ , a _döner kebab_ , _iskender kabob_ , zucchini pancakes, plus the cold mezze platter.” In other words, enough food for nine people. So typical.

“Yo Ebenezer, we’re not exactly the Cratchit’s here. I was in the middle of making stir-fry,” Stiles snapped.

Derek scanned the empty stove and counter. “You haven’t even started it yet,” he said looking puzzled, basically like he didn’t have a clue why Stiles was being difficult— _Stiles_. “There’s enough for you—you’re welcome to join us.”

Lydia pursed her lips, determined not to say anything. She wondered for the hundredth time how these two had ever managed to have sex. For all Stiles’ love of gossip, there were certain topics he never spoke of. The major one was anything to do with his family or how he’d lost them. But the other _verboten_ topic was how he and Derek had met. She’d have assumed Derek was a trick, except that Derek Hale _really_ wasn’t the type to go trolling for rentboys.

Derek was such a thorough, instinctive Alpha, most of the time he didn’t even seem aware of the argument he was actually having with Stiles. Case in point, she would bet her Fendi clutch that Stiles hadn’t eaten since that bowl of oatmeal this morning—given that the espresso bar he worked at charged employees full-price for food. If any other Alpha had brought that food, Stiles would be on his knees offering a blow job for some free _döner kebab_ , and yet here he was arguing with Derek like his dearest wish in life was to make stir-fry.

“Oh, I’m welcome to join, am I? How nice of you to invite me to eat in _Lydia’s_ apartment, where I had already been invited.”

Derek hardly seemed to hear him. “You don’t look well. Have you lost weight?”

_No idiot—he’s touch starved._

“I have not!” Of course, Stiles was outraged. “But if you’re so worried about it, then take this fucking collar off of me so I can make some fucking money!”

_I think you mean money fucking._

“Absolutely not!” Derek growled. “If I take it off, you’ll just turn tricks again. It’s not safe.”

“Hello, that’s how I make money!”

“It’s not safe.”

God, Derek, human being as broken record—Lydia wondered if it should be listed in the DSM as a recognized Alpha personality disorder.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You think I just popped into being the day you met me? That I hadn’t somehow managed to survive before I had a big tough Alpha to protect me? Take this goddamned collar off of me, Derek. I can’t even get laid!”

Lydia slumped against the headboard, exhausted at the prospect of trying to play referee yet again with the two males in her life. She owed both of them so much by now, she couldn’t bring herself to kick them out of the apartment, but she really wished she didn’t have to listen to this again.

It was times like this that Lydia wondered how on earth she’d gotten to this point: a year ago she’d been the carefree omega mistress of a handsome, wealthy Alpha who was _amazing_ in bed, who was paying her tuition to Stanford, and who wouldn’t dream of demanding exclusivity of an omega.

Now, she was an unmated omega nearing the end of a high-risk pregnancy, living in a run-down tenement, dependent for just about everything on a needy, hyperactive omega rent-boy and an obdurate, humorless Alpha with a hero complex.

It sounded like the set-up for one of the more depressing Puccini operas.

The irony was that she’d crossed paths with both of them in that glamorous old life and dismissed them outright as people Lydia Martin would never consider as associates—let alone two of the only true friends she had in the world.

Stiles had occasionally lurked around Peter’s, both the house and the apartment. She’d vaguely assumed he was a computer tech there to set up the wireless network. She’d never have remembered him at all if he hadn’t overturned that end-table spilling coffee on Peter’s Le Corbusier loveseat.

That the skinny, hideously-dressed omega might have any connection to an Alpha like Derek Hale would have struck her as laughable.

She’d had far more dealings with Derek naturally. But even sharing a house with him for almost two years did not mean they’d ever had a real conversation. Her lover’s nephew might be gorgeous but he was also uptight and beyond morose. It did not help that he was annoyingly polite whenever he spoke to her. She avoided him on principle.

Except for sex—obviously. She’d seduced Derek the first time out of boredom when Peter was traveling. But to her utter shock, he’d proven to be _spectacular_ in bed. He was nothing like Peter, but the boy knew what to do with a knot.

(She’d wondered if being fantastic in bed could possibly be genetic, but she’d come to realize it was actually part of the Hales’ philosophy: a good Alpha should always be willing to accommodate a needy omega, and when finished, should leave that omega mindless from ecstasy. And Lydia could attest that the adult Hales were living up to the family values: there were no words in any language that could do justice to the pleasures of being fucked by Laura Hale.)

Lydia refused to regret sex that epic, but in retrospect, letting an Alpha as old-fashioned and upright as Derek Hale knot her had been a rooky mistake she’d never make again.

She barely remembered Derek’s existence out of bed, and certainly never dreamt that he’d be anything but a pleasant diversion when her far-more-compatible lover was unavailable.

Until last June, when her perfect life had shattered.

Everyone in America knew about the terrorist bomb that had assassinated Senator Talia Hale and decimated the Hale Pack, one of the oldest and most respected in the country. But Lydia had been living with Peter for more than a year before she began to comprehend the knot of cold, lethal rage that lurked beneath that charming, easy-going façade. For all his fondness for her, Peter truly only cared for one thing: getting revenge on the people responsible for the destruction of his family.

He might have gotten past his sister’s murder. The world of Alpha politics was a bloody one, and Talia Hale had not gotten to the United States Senate without winning her share of challenges or, Lydia suspected, ordering Peter to carry out a respectable number of hits. But the assassins hadn’t just killed Talia Hale: they had bombed the reception hall where the pack had gathered for a cousin’s wedding, killing the senator, her mate, their two omega children, along with more than a dozen Hale pack friends and retainers. Beyond the sheer loss of life, the tragedy struck an incalculable blow against the Hales’ reputation, showing them up as Alphas who could not protect their people.

The culprits had tried to implicate a radical omega separatist group, rather improbable given Talia Hale’s unstinting support for omega rights. Lydia didn’t know how or when Peter had discovered that the Argents, one of California’s wealthiest packs and staunch proponents of Alpha-rule, had been responsible, only that he was positive that Gerard had ordered the hit and Kate Argent had carried it out.

Then last June, the news came that Talia’s replacement and dear friend, Senator Satomi Ito, had to step down unexpectedly—and that Gerard Argent was running for her old seat. Peter didn’t even bother to tell Lydia before he announced his own run. She watched the press conference live on CNN.

Her first reaction had been to run to the toilet and puke—for the third time that morning. Next, she’d finally ripped open the pregnancy test she’d hidden in her underwear drawer, peed on the stupid stick, and then sat for three nerve-shredding minutes to find out the results.

When she saw those two blue lines, what followed was pure instinct: she began frantically packing, her sole thought that she had to get away from Peter, out of the house, out of Hale territory.

Peter might be running on a pro-omega platform, but in reality his attitudes were more feudal than progressive. The Hales’ indulgence of omegas’ polyamory seemed liberal compared to the Argents’ Alpha-rule obsession with omega chastity and meek obedience, but Peter was just as capable as Gerard Argent of making life-altering decisions for one of his omegas, and then patting them fondly on the head when they tried to protest.

Lydia cared about Peter, but for her, their relationship was financial—purposely so. She was his _mistress_ , someone who traded sex and companionship for money. People were welcome to call her mercenary or a whore—they could go fuck themselves. She was fully aware of society’s prejudices against sex work, and one of her biggest goals in life was to expose them for the Puritanical, Alpha-rule bigotry they were.

Peter loved her ideas—he thought they were brilliant. But Lydia wasn’t fooled. It was an omega’s prerogative to entertain brilliant, fanciful notions about the world. None of that changed that for Peter, she was _pack—_ a pack omega should always be pleasured and pampered, but it was for the Alpha to “know” what was right for them.

But Lydia had been raised by her single-omega mother with no Alphas making decisions for them. Her goal, as Peter damn well knew, had always been to get emancipated-omega status once she finished her degree. Her ultimate goal, which she’d never shared with him, was to buy a house where she could live communally with other omegas, a place where Alphas were welcome but where omegas made the rules. Being pregnant would make that much, much harder, but all the more crucial if she wanted to raise her child according to her own values.

But with the election reigniting tensions between the Hale and Argent packs, the Hales would be closing ranks around their omegas. The pregnancy would only make them more aggressive and controlling. If she refused mating, Peter would simply collar her. The collar would announce to the entire world that she was the legal dependent of the Hale Alphas, entitled to their support and protection, but equally subject to their authority—unable to open so much as a bank account without their permission.

Which was fucking unacceptable.

Lydia still wondered what might have happened if she’d been able to get out of Peter’s house without being stopped, not that she’d ever know.

She’d been positive she was alone in the house, only to discover how wrong she was when Derek burst into her room.

“Get out!” she screamed.

“I heard you crying. What happened?” he demanded. He took a deep sniff and instantly Alpha’d out, fangs, red eyes, the works. “You’re pregnant.”

“It’s none of your fucking business. Get out of my room!”

“You’re pack.”

“It’s not Peter’s—or yours. The baby is not a Hale. I swear to god.”

If anything that made him more furious. “Whose is it?” he roared

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business. You’re pack. If the Alpha won’t claim you, then you’ll mate Peter or me.”

Welcome to life with Derek Hale: seriously, did he think they were characters in a nineteenth-century melodrama or maybe a bad telenovela? How did you even get through to someone who could say something that demented?

She blamed the hormones, but she’d just let go and screamed, a real Fay Wray heart-render of a shriek. Derek stared at her totally appalled, but at least he stopped arguing with her.

It had given her the moment she needed to pull back and try another approach. “Derek, I am begging you. Please help me get out of here before Peter comes home. God, he’s going to force a collar on me. I can’t let that happen—I can’t even think in this FUCKING HOUSE. I need to get out of Hale territory—before I go mad. Please, help me.”

_Please help me._

Three little words. Little did she understand their power over an Alpha like Derek Hale. She’d seen the calculations passing behind his eyes, and then he’d growled, “Go get in the car.”

“What about my stuff!”

“I’ll deal with it. Peter could get home any minute. _Get in the car, omega_ ,” he snapped in the Alpha tone.

She had no choice to obey, and basically that was how it had gone. Derek drove her to a hotel outside either Hale or Argent territory, checked her in, and then left, he said to fetch her stuff.

To her shame, she had wondered if Derek would just abandon her there, happy to be rid of a troublesome omega—probably the most grossly unjust thing she’d ever thought of another human being. She would definitely have run, but he’d not given her time to even grab her purse. So she’d waited.

He returned three hours later with her clothes and laptop and the news that he’d found an apartment in a neighborhood where an unmated, pregnant omega could live without raising too much notice, that it needed to be renovated, but she could move in after the weekend. Then, after he’d finished explaining that, an O.B. named Alan Deaton, who was also an omega, showed up at the hotel room, gave her an examination and a supply of prenatal vitamins, and explained the risks both physical and legal of what she was planning.

The risks were real. It was always an uphill battle for unmated omegas to get custody of a child, even if the Alpha parent didn’t object. Given Lydia’s age and her lack of any income or living family, there was virtually no chance she’d be allowed to keep her baby if Omega Services found out.

But getting away from Peter’s house had only hardened her. She knew the kind of life she wanted for her child. She could not create that life as a Hale pack omega. The irony of course was that her ability to avoid becoming a Hale pack omega depended entirely on Derek Hale.

Lydia wasn’t helpless—she could have done all of it, not easily, but she would have. Somehow. But Derek was like a force of nature—obstacles simply couldn’t stand against his Alpha will or obstinacy or whatever the fuck it was.

She still didn’t totally understand Derek’s motives. Short of naming the Alpha who’d knocked her up, she’d said everything she could think of to convince him he wasn’t the father—and that Peter, who’d never knotted her for just this reason, couldn’t be. But it was like talking to a wall—Derek didn’t care or didn’t believe her.

But with Derek paying for her apartment and medical care, she barely had to touch her savings and could afford to use the remaining months to finish her degree, which would enable her to get a well-paying job when the time came, vastly increasing her chances of getting emancipated status.

So basically Lydia owed Derek Hale—massively, in a way she could never, ever repay.

Then five days after she’d moved into her new apartment, she’d been coming up the stairs from the grocery store to hear shouting coming from above her. As she got to the top-floor landing, she saw Derek frowning stubbornly in a pose she’d come to recognize, while a vaguely familiar omega screamed at him to go fuck himself.

They’d both stared at her in surprise—like they had forgotten that other people actually lived in the building? Derek recovered first and said, “Lydia, this is Stiles, your new neighbor. If you need anything, just tell him. I’ll pay for it.” And with that he’d left.

Stiles stared after him, mouth hanging open in outrage. “Oh my god, can you believe that asshole?”

That one was too hard to answer, so Lydia had gone with, “I’m Lydia. Have we met?”

“Yeah, like ten times—you’re Peter Hale’s…” He made a vague flinging gesture with your hand. “His whatever.”

“His whatever—and I _was_ , past tense.”

“Yeah, no kidding, if you’re living here.”

“And you’re Derek’s…whatever?”

Stiles looked at her like she was insane. “As if! I fuck the guy a few dozen times, and then he puts this collar on me, and now he won’t take it off!”

Which was when she noticed that Stiles was in fact wearing an actual Hale pack collar, complete with an engraved “Derek Hale” tag. The tag implied an awfully serious relationship, which she found difficult to fathom between the skinny, foul-mouthed omega and Derek Hale. Also, most omegas did not share Lydia’s antipathy towards a collar. Judging from his clothes, Stiles looked like he’d been living under a bridge: shouldn’t he be overjoyed at being collared by a pack as wealthy as the Hales?

Before she could press for details, Stiles said, “So Derek says you’re pregnant. And I should get you anything you need.”

“He collared you so you could do me errands?”

“No!” Stiles sounded offended. “That’s why he’s paying for the apartment—which is a dump by the way, and don’t say that it’s nicer than my old one because it’s totally the principle of it. The collar was… something different.”

“I really don’t understand.”

“Look, the collar was just a stupid misunderstanding, which has nothing to do with you. Derek told me a friend of his was pregnant and offered me the apartment free of charge if I helped them—well _you_ —I dunno, get groceries, do dishes, give foot rubs, eat you out—anything.”

“Derek told you to eat me out?”

“NO! I’m offering—and you should totally say yes because I am amazing at eating pussy.”

Lydia blamed the pregnancy hormones—or maybe fear, or boredom, or loneliness. She’d never know for sure—only that she’d answered, “How about instead we have coffee.”

“Are you sure you should be drinking coffee—in your… condition?”

“Stiles, if you plan on ever tasting my pussy, you will _never_ question my coffee-drinking again.”

“Hey, I love coffee—I work at the espresso bar down the block. I can even get you free lattes or macchiatos, flat white—whatever you drink.”

“Whole-milk latte in whatever is your largest size.”

“Consider it done. So, like, is Derek your baby-Alpha?” he asked, trying a bit too hard to sound casual.

“You think Derek Hale would stash his pregnant omega here?”

“Uh, yeah, probably not. So then….”

“Stiles, don’t ask me about the baby’s Alpha—ever.”

He made a zipping motion over his lips and even mimed throwing away the key. As intended, it was clear he assumed the baby was Peter’s, which had the advantage of being the most likely scenario, with the added plus that no one would be surprised that in the midst of a fierce Senate race, Peter Hale might want to keep attention off the fact that the Hales still kept "pack omegas," whom they knocked up but didn't mate. 

It was good that she’d put to rest the baby-Alpha questions, because over the course of their coffee date she discovered that her new neighbor was a non-stop talker with no boundaries that she could discern on what he’d ask about or volunteer when it came to sex acts, sex partners, or bodily functions.

Coffee had been followed by tea the next day and dinner the day after that, when Stiles finally tasted her pussy. Maybe a week after that, Theo Raeken had stopped by to introduce himself, stayed for dinner, and finished the evening by fucking both of them into the mattress.

She was almost positive that Stiles hadn’t spent a night in his own bed since then.

And there was no way to measure all the help he’d given her in those six months—certainly not in the notional rent on that piece of shit apartment Derek was paying for. And since the gestational disequilibrium hit, making it impossible for her to move without help, he’d basically saved her and her daughter’s life.

Nothing in Lydia’s life before could have prepared her for how much she would have to depend on two comparative strangers, who owed her literally nothing. It was absolutely terrifying. She’d never in her life been so vulnerable, with so little control.

But even more terrifying was how easy it would be to exploit Stiles and Derek. Lydia had always prided herself on her ruthlessness: in a world that screwed omegas over in every possible way, she was not going to apologize for putting herself first, for breaking rules and using people to get ahead. Peter recognized this about her and admired it, and since he was just as ruthless, as well as being an unapologetic narcissist, she didn’t have to worry about hurting him.

But Stiles and Derek—oh my god, it was like they each had “screw me over” stamped on their foreheads! Her old self would have blamed them for allowing themselves be exploited and gone on her merry way. After all, she had a baby to think of!

But somehow her unborn daughter was pushing her in an unfamiliar direction. The idea that Mimi might grow up without knowing Stiles or Derek, without knowing that that level of generosity and loyalty existed in the world, felt almost like an existential wound—like she’d be irreparably harming her child. And she’d spent enough time around the very wealthy to know that no amount of money could ever buy what Stiles and Derek had given her.

It wasn’t like they were saints. They’d each forced themselves into Lydia’s life entirely for their own reasons: Stiles because he was lonely and an unabashed buttinski, and Derek because of a host of tiresome Alpha instincts he could no more ignore than she could her need to breathe.

But she also had no choice but to acknowledge the saccharine truth: she’d never known two people with their capacity for love. They’d both been dealt devastating losses by life, and yet when it came to it, they could love her freely and fearlessly, never asking whether it was for their advantage, or whether they might be hurt. Lydia couldn’t help feeling that before she’d known them, her own idea of love had been a stingy thing, pathetically lacking in imagination, restricted to a single person, her mother, whom she still missed so much it ached. Her only consolation was that she’d figured it out in time, so that when Mimi came into the world, she would immediately have three people who loved her unconditionally.

Sadly Stiles’ and Derek’s capacity for limitless love for her and her unborn baby did not help them figure out how to love each other. They both showed all the symptoms of an advanced case of pining. She could even sympathize with each of them. Derek’s offense was definitely greater. Collaring Stiles without permission was an incredible abuse of power, consistent with the worst brand of Alpha-rule bullshit. Stiles had managed to cut the tag with Derek’s name off, but the collar itself was unbreakable and could only be unlocked by the Alpha who’d put it on, which Derek doggedly refused to do.

But after six months of dealing with both of them, she couldn’t help sympathizing with the Alpha a tiny bit. Though by her own principles she should defend Stiles’ right to engage in sex work, his idea of the profession was to get blind drunk and then proposition random Alphas to give him $20 for a blow job. It was horribly risky and reeked of self-loathing. The point of her ideas was that sex work was a legitimate form of work, and whether one went into it because of economic need or an omega’s natural preference for polyamory, it should be as safe and respected as other forms of work.

Derek’s methods sucked, but he was right to be worried: Stiles’ hustling was more about self-destruction than making money.

This was not a new argument and there were no signs of it being resolved now—or of her getting a taste of those ethereal _Beyoglu_ _manti_ which must be getting cold.

Meanwhile Derek was yelling, “The collar didn’t stop you from sleeping with Theo Raeken.”

“Oh My God—are you fucking jealous?”

“No, I am not jealous. Of course you should sleep with Raeken. What you shouldn’t do is hustle.”

“How the fuck is this your problem?”

“It’s my problem because I made it my problem. I don’t want you hustling.”

And around we go _again_. Her stomach growled. Fuck this.

“You know she can hear every word, right?” she shouted over them. It worked. They both stared at her, appalled. Pretending to talk to her womb, she murmured, “My poor sweet baby girl: don’t be scared of your evil godfathers, who can’t stop yelling at each other and don’t care about how they’re traumatizing their poor, unborn goddaughter— _or that I’m about to pass out from low blood sugar!_ ”

She chuckled to herself. Derek really did have a magnificent glare. The Alpha growled at Stiles, “Will you get the plates or should I?”

Stiles stamped his foot and pouted, as always around Derek playing the part of the clichéd omega brat. And also typical, he obeyed, fetching plates and silverware, pouring water for himself and Derek, and milk for Lydia, since Stiles, of all the gazillion articles out there on pregnancy, had fixated on the one that claimed that pregnant omegas should get extra calcium, and she’d gotten tired of arguing with him.

Stiles fixed up her tray, making a big show of carrying it over himself. Derek set the little café table and filled plates for himself and Stiles—without asking Stiles what he wanted, she noticed.

Like he’d brought that food without knowing damn well that Stiles would be here— _riiiight_.

They ate in awkward silence for a few minutes before Stiles broke. “So Derek,” he said with phony brightness, “Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

Derek hesitated and then said, “Peter said he’s too busy with the campaign. Laura and Cora usually go skiing. They’ve rented a house in Tahoe. I was thinking of driving down tomorrow in time for lunch.”

“Aren’t you going to open presents under the tree?” Stiles sounded scandalized.

“I don’t think the rental has a tree, and we don’t do presents. Well, Cora usually makes me a mixed CD of whatever music she’s listening to. And Laura always gives Peter a bottle of his favorite Scotch.”

“Wow—that sounds awful. What’s the point of being filthy rich if you can’t celebrate Christmas?”

“Stiles!” Lydia put a stop to this, knowing all too well that the surviving Hales had stopped celebrating Christmas after the tragedy. “I’m sure they just want to relax after all the stuff they’ve been doing for the campaign. I heard the snow is fantastic this year—it sounds like the perfect vacation.”

“What about you?” Derek asked her, looking concerned. “I know you’re on bed rest, but I could have arranged…”

“We’re not celebrating Christmas,” Stiles exclaimed proudly. “I mean when you think about it, it’s a holiday that celebrates a birth to a pregnant omega virgin and gave rise to a religion founded on Alpha dominance and omega chastity.” Derek looked confused—justifiably since none of that sounded remotely like anything Stiles would ever say. In fact, he was paraphrasing arguments she’d been making all month.

Lydia felt her face go red. She’d fucked this up. She knew so little about Stiles’ history before she’d met him, but she should have realized that he’d probably celebrated Christmas with his own family before he somehow lost them.

Her eyes burned; she took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together. Crying would not fix this. “I figured that this was my last chance at a totally peaceful, non-commercial holiday,” she said brightly. “Next year, I promise we’ll have a big tree, and tinsel, uh, cookies…” She struggled, trying to think of Christmasy stuff, never having actually celebrated the holiday with her mom. “And stockings for Mimi and Stiles.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested.

“Mimi—so you chose a name.” Derek actually smiled.

“Mireille—her name is Mireille,” Stiles snapped, making it sound like he’d invented it. “It means ‘wonder’ in French. Mimi is the nickname.”

“Yes, I know what Mireille means.” To Lydia he said, “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said, wishing those two words could possibly convey something of what she felt.

 _Oh god, these fucking hormones!_ But there was no help: tears started streaming down her face.

“Lydia, oh my god.” Stiles jumped up and ran to her.

“I’m fine—I’m fine! It’s the hormones.”

“Oh my god, Oh my god, what can I do?” Stiles was ranting, looking like he might start crying himself. Even Derek looked panicked.

Lydia fumbled for anything to derail this, and finally sobbed, “Stiles, god, I’m so embarrassed but there was something—I meant to text you but I forgot. I’ve been obsessing about that _Dulce de Leche_ ice cream again, and I’m worried Sal’s is going to be closed tomorrow. I’m so sorry.” Better he think she was crying over ice cream than over little orphan Stiles’ lack of a Christmas stocking.

“No! My god—don’t be. The Stiles ice cream brigade is on the job!” He looked overjoyed to have a cause, pulling sweatpants over his scrubs and then fumbling through his stuff for his socks.

Of course, Derek had to put in, “I should go.” It was like the Alpha had a gift for saying exactly the wrong thing.

“No! I can do it. God, stop treating me like a fucking kid—I can buy ice cream!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Derek protested. “It’s just…it’s late out!”

“I’m sorry, it’s 7:40—and I have actually been known to come home from clubs at, oh, 4am, so I think I know better than you when it’s safe or not to walk around my own fucking neighborhood.”

“Stiles!” Lydia snapped. “Mimi sure is learning a lot of nice new words.”

“Fine, sorry. Can I go now?” Fumbling for his pocket, he added, “Feel free to pay if you’re so worried about me.”

Derek wasn’t happy but he took out his wallet and fished out a handful of bills—all twenties. Derek meant well but the sheer casualness with which he could throw around money had to rankle.

“Wow, I guess ice cream costs a shitload more in someone’s neighborhood,” Stiles sneered, but shoved the money in his coat pocket.

“Oh, bring down the laundry bag for the service,” she called.

“On it!” He grabbed the bag, throwing it over his shoulder. “Santa Stiles is off to make his delivery,” he quipped as he unlocked the three deadbolts. “Lock up for me, would you,” he added with phony politeness to Derek and then left.


	3. Act 3 Scene 1

Lydia wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect of a tête-á-tête with Derek—which would be awkward to say the least—but she was relieved for Stiles’ sake. He needed a break. He’d been living hand-to-mouth for months, barely able to afford necessities let alone anything fun. Lydia had a feeling he would be making a little detour to Outer Limits Comics, which was only a few blocks from Sal’s and would probably be open late to grab the last minute shoppers. She hoped he bought himself something nice.

Especially since she’d fucked up this Christmas stuff. She’d not gotten him or Derek anything. Too wrapped up in her own shit. God, she was the worst friend.

Derek threw the bolts and then set about sealing up the leftovers and putting them in the fridge. “I should have realized he’d want to celebrate Christmas,” he said once he was done.

It always caught her off guard when Derek said something that perceptive, though this need to hold himself responsible for everyone needed to end. “Derek, you’ve had plenty on your plate. I’m the one who lives with him. I should have realized.”

She closed her eyes, really not wanting to cry in front of Derek any more than she did Stiles.

“I got him a gift,” he said. “I hope that’s okay. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to feel like he had get me one. I do understand money is tight for him. I didn’t get you anything—just like you asked.”

“I really appreciate that, Derek. That you respected me enough to believe me. That’s actually the best gift you could give me. It’s not easy to owe anyone as much as I owe you or Stiles.” He tried to protest, but she stopped him. “I know you’re an Alpha and have all sorts of ideas about what is due to omegas, but can you understand why _I_ might find it hard?” she said gently.

He nodded. “I do. I’m trying to hold back. To respect that both of you have a right to be independent.” _And that right there was why she loved Derek._

It was the perfect opening, and awkward as she found it to talk about personal matters with him, Lydia knew she had to take it. “Derek, why don’t you just take the collar off?”

“No!” he snapped angrily and then looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

“He has feelings for you—I’m sure of it—but I don’t think you can fix this while he’s wearing that collar.”

“You don’t understand!” He sounded… _upset_ , which wasn’t quite right, unless…

“What? What don’t I understand?” Derek had gone pale—it was too strong a reaction. “Derek!” She was angry now. “What don’t I understand? What haven’t you told me?”

Derek pinched his brows and then said, “You remember the Argent hack—the big data dump?”

Lydia felt like ice water had been dumped on her. “Oh, I’ll kill him. _Stiles_ is Omegatron? Of course he is. Oh my god, how did I not see it? You let him hack the Argents?” She was screaming. “Jesus Christ, Derek, what were you thinking? What if Kate Argent finds out?”

“You think I’d let Stiles do something that dangerous?”

“Oh my god, Peter.” Lydia felt sick with anger. “Give me your phone,” she gasped, only then realizing that her face was covered with tears.

“Lydia, please, you need to calm down,” Derek pleaded.

“Give me the fucking phone!” she screamed.

Derek winced but handed it to her. She hit Peter’s number on the speed-dial.

“I’m busy, Derek. Can it wait?” Peter answered.

“You used Stiles to hack the Argents?” she snapped, the first words she’d spoken to Peter since she’d run from his house.

“Darling, how are you? How’s the baby?”

“Peter—did you get Stiles to hack the Argents?”

“Angel, I think you misunderstand my relationship with Derek’s pet if you think I could _get_ him to do anything. The boy came to me after the first hack to let me know he’d done it. He wants to see Gerard Argent defeated as much as anyone and asked if I thought it would help—was I supposed to lie? I warned him about Kate, said she’s dangerous and would have no problem coming after an omega. I’m really not sure what else I was supposed to say. And anyway, Derek collared him. He’s a Hale pack omega. No one will be allowed to harm him.”

“Peter, if something happens to Stiles because of this, I will _end_ you—I swear it.”

“Of course, and I wouldn’t even try to defend myself if you did. But Stiles is quite safe.” From Peter’s tone it was almost as if he were looking at him at this moment. Lydia’s mind began racing—she looked at Derek, who looked almost sick.

“Peter, what is happening?”

“Something long overdo.”

“Peter, what did you do?” she gasped. “Oh my god, Stiles is out there. He went to get me ice cream. He’s by himself.”

“Derek, put the phone on speaker,” Peter ordered.

Fucking Alpha hearing. Derek grabbed the phone from her and pushed the button. “Lydia, angel,” Peter soothed. “I can hear your heartbeat over the line. It’s not good for the baby.”

“You can fuck yourself. Stiles is out there with Kate!”

“Derek, help her,” Peter growled.

 _“Omega, slow your breathing!”_ Derek commanded in the Alpha tone.

She shuddered, lurching into an orgasm just from the power behind his command. Before she’d met Peter she’d thought the Alpha ability to make an omega come with just their voice was a myth, the purview of ludicrous pornos and fanfic. _Was that wrong_. All the Hales had the ability. (As did Theo Raeken, to her endless annoyance.)

As she came down, she found herself doing the Lamaze breathing exercises Alan Deaton had taught her, which she’d never practiced having no intention of needing them thanks to the medical miracle known as the epidural.

As her awareness returned, she heard Peter ask soothingly, “Are you better, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you, Peter,” she said shakily.

“There’s my girl. Angel, look at Derek—is he panicking?”

She obeyed—Derek looked pained, but not like he feared for Stiles’ safety. She didn’t trust Peter as far as she could throw him, but she trusted Derek, almost more than herself. “No,” she answered.

“That’s because he knows that Stiles is perfectly safe.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good. Now, I must go. Derek, don’t leave her. Take care of yourself, darling.”

“Peter….”

“Sweetheart?”

“Be careful. Please.”

“Oh I will,” he laughed. “And now, I really have to go.”

Lydia threw the phone on the bed, wondering how in hell she’d lived with that man for two years without murdering him. She turned to Derek. “You’re _sure_ Stiles is alright?”

“Yes.” Typical Derek—nice and curt, and impossible to doubt.

“What about Peter?”

“He knows what he’s doing. He has to do this.”

The bed shifted as the Alpha lay down next to her, pulling her into his arms. “You are going to talk to Stiles tonight,” she sobbed. “Explain why you did it. I can’t take you guys hating each other, Derek. I need you both too much, and I’m sorry for that, I truly am, and I will never be able to thank you, but you have got to fix things with him—please. If something happened—think how you’d feel….” she broke down.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Easy.” It was moments like these that she really felt what it was to be an omega—to need an Alpha. Derek was awkward and taciturn, but there was something so solid and honorable about him, like he really didn’t look down on her for crying, like it gave him something to be needed. Though it made her feel a little guilty, she couldn’t help feeling profoundly grateful that Peter was the one out there facing Kate, and that Derek was here with her, safe. She knew that Derek was considered the best fighter in the pack, and one of the strongest Alphas in America, but he also had a reputation for not issuing challenges.

She’d wondered before at how differently Derek and Peter had been affected by the tragedy. They were all so wounded by it, but while Peter had quietly nursed his revenge, Derek seemed to be searching for something completely different. Lydia suspected that deep down he hated killing—he’d seen enough death.

Of course her pregnant body would choose this moment to demand attention. “Fuck, I have to pee again—Stiles, why aren’t you here!”

Derek just nodded and then swept her into his arms and fucking carried her to the bathroom and plopped her on the toilet. _Where was the brain bleach when she needed it?_ Even the convenience of turning a painstaking journey of minutes into a ten-second ride could not offset the embarrassment of having Derek Hale put her on a toilet.

At least Derek left her alone to pee. Her bladder took its sweet time expelling another gallon of urine. Using the sink, she managed to pull herself to her feet, only to be suddenly swamped with dizziness. “Derek!” she cried.

He caught her before she fell and shaking his head in vintage Alpha disapproval carried her back to her bed. Without a word he climbed in next to her and pulled her into his arms.

Where they just waited for news that the boy they both loved most in the world was safe.


	4. Act 3 Scene 2

Derek’s phone rang about twenty minutes later, causing them both to jerk in alarm. He showed her Peter’s number on the screen and hit the speaker button to answer. “Turn on Fox News,” was all Peter said before cutting off.

Lydia grabbed the remote and hit the button. They were just cutting away from the _O’Reilly Factor_ to Megyn Kelly. “We’re interrupting because we’ve just gotten word of a shocking development in the special senate race in California. Erica Reyes is live in Beacon Hills. Erica, can you tell us what’s happening?”

“Shocking is right, Megyn. Fox News has learned that Kate Argent, daughter of billionaire and senate hopeful, Gerard Argent, has allegedly _assaulted_ an omega from the Hale Pack. Details are still coming in, but officials on the scene report the omega is safe and that Peter Hale has issued a formal challenge to Kate Argent. How this will affect the race for the senate is anyone’s guess. Needless to say, Fox News will be following this story closely and will bring you updates as soon as we know more. Back to you, Megyn.

She flicked it off. “You knew this was happening.”

Derek looked miserable but answered, “Peter has had people guarding Stiles since he found out about the hack. They spotted someone watching the café two days ago, but Peter insisted nothing would happen without Kate. She came into town this morning, and from then it was just a matter of time.”

“I’m never going to forgive him for this, Derek. He used Stiles as bait.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he said quietly.

“But you forgive him?”

“Stiles made himself a target from the moment he hacked the Argents. Short of locking him up, this was the only way we could protect him.”

“I’m sorry, Derek, I didn’t mean to imply….”

“No Lydia, you’re right, a pack omega is sacred, they should never be in danger….”

 _Ugh, not that sacred omega crap._ “Derek, stop, please, it’s not that. I just know how Peter thinks—he must have planned this from the second he heard about the hack. Talk about Christmas, Omegatron must have felt like the ultimate gift. And here Stiles is taking all these risks, exposing decades of Argent corruption, but all anyone cares about is that Kate Argent attacked a poor, defenseless omega.”

Derek looked so wounded, Lydia hated herself. Derek, who would never have done anything like this, who really was trying to see beyond his upbringing and his own instincts.

“I suppose Peter told you to put that collar on him?” she said hoarsely.

“No, I did that. But you’re right: Peter saw at once how it would give him the opportunity he needed to challenge Kate.” Derek laughed bleakly. “His main problem was that he didn’t realize what a good a hacker Stiles was or that it would take the Argents so many months to trace who’d done it.”

“I’m not going to think about this challenge, I can’t. It serves him right if she hurts him.” _No more fucking tears!_ “I don’t mean that, I’m sorry, but I’m so mad at Peter, Derek. But if something happens to him…..” She rubbed her stomach—so much for reducing stress.

“Lydia, Kate cannot defeat Peter, not in a fair challenge.”

She looked into those gorgeous hazel eyes, so full of pain and devotion for those he cared about. Peter would have sworn on his dead sister’s grave and then lied through his teeth just to reassure her, but Derek wouldn’t lie, not for anything. She had to trust him, trust that he understood these nuances of Alpha challenges.

“God, where is Stiles? I could really use that ice cream right now. Something to distract me.” She flicked on the TV, but every channel was some sort of Christmas movie or Christmas special. “Ugh!” She turned it off and threw the remote down on the bed.

“You really hate Christmas,” Derek said.

She grabbed at the change of subject. “It wasn’t something we celebrated, my mom and me. My mom, like, loathed all monotheism, which I know sounds ludicrous, but that was kind of her thing. She might have been willing to celebrate Yule, the pagan predecessor of Christmas, but she despised the consumerism of the season. But I guess in a way, we had our own traditions—like we always had a Scrabble tournament Christmas eve, and we’d do a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle over the school vacation. And every year we’d research one of the pagan religions, especially those that worshipped omega fertility deities, and then make one of their sacred dishes to show that there were still people in the world who valued them.”

“It sounds beautiful. You mom sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was. And I know she sounds like a complete hippie who’d wear Birkenstocks and hemp dresses, but she wasn’t at all. She loved fashion and beautiful clothes. She was a high school teacher, and we didn’t have much money, but she taught me that if you know how to buy, like, buy carefully, only clothes that look stunning and fit perfectly, you can always be dressed beautifully, no matter what your budget. And, I guess, you get to feel a little superior to the people out there with ten times as much money and closets full of clothes, who don’t dress half as well. So totally _not a hippie_. And if she saw me in this stupid robe Stiles bought on the street—100% polyester, that came in a six pack, I don’t even want to think….”

“Your mom worshipped omega fertility deities—she’d think you looked like a goddess, and she also sounds practical so she’d probably agree that you shouldn’t ruin your good robe.”

Lydia put a hand on his cheek: “Wow, that was the practically nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Anyway, I’ve decided. Next year, our Christmas is going to be the love child of Martha Stewart and Norman fucking Rockwell. You’ll have to help me, but we’ll get everything—I dunno, tinsel, and a huge tree, and eggnog, and one of those fruitcake things.”

“I hate fruitcake—everyone hates fruitcake.”

“We are having fruitcake, and candy canes—come on, Derek, what do people have at Christmas?”

“I think we used to make a gingerbread house—when we were younger.”

“Stiles will love that.”

“I wouldn’t mind a jigsaw puzzle. I haven’t done one in ages. Peter would love a Scrabble tournament, though I warn you he is really hard to beat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Peter can’t beat me,” Lydia said. “Damn it, what is taking so long? This is going to drive me crazy.” She could feel the tears building. _No!_ “I swear, I would give anything for you to fuck me right now, Derek. Stiles thinks he’s hard up—I’ve been off sex and orgasms for six weeks.”

There was a slight but palpable change in Derek’s attitude. _Hello, Hale Family Values._ “From what I understood, you’re past the danger zone. You might not be able to have sex, but you can definitely have an orgasm.”

She could practically have one just from the intent way he was looking at her.

“Spread your legs for me, omega.”

 _God his voice!_ Lydia groaned, “Oh fuck! Derek!” Talk about hard up—one order and he had her writhing on the mattress.

“Easy, Lydia, I got you. Now show me your breasts—go on.”

She couldn’t obey fast enough, pulling open her robe and arching her back.

“Gorgeous. Touch them for me.”

She palmed them, still a little weirded out by how heavy and tender they felt.

Derek bent over her and nipped oh-so-lightly at the areola, remembering that her nipples were too sensitive for that. Meanwhile his hand snuck down to touch her clit with just a single finger. The teasing touch contrasted with the slight pain from his teeth practically threw her into an orgasm right there.

She let out a loud groan, already past words apparently. _How the fuck did he do it!_ It should not be possible to get her this turned on in under a minute.

“You are _so_ beautiful,” he murmured. And the amazing part was that since it was Derek, she felt it too—that she wasn’t fat and sticky and achy and so _done_ with being pregnant; she was beautiful. What had he said?—a goddess. That’s how Derek Hale made you feel in bed.

He alternated blowing on her breast with those sharp little bites, continuing the exquisitely light touch to her clit, enough to hold her on the edge, but not allowing her to go over.

It was enough to force her to find words. “Derek! Derek, please.”

“Don’t fight me, omega.” The hint of steel in his voice sent a jolt of pleasure through her, a promise of what was to come. _Fuck, she couldn’t remember the last time she was this close_.

He switched to pressing the heel of his palm against her pussy. “Move—rub yourself against me,” he ordered.

She groaned as she bent her knees so she could use her feet to rock against his hand. It got her a small amount of relief but he still controlled the pressure, still held her at the point he wanted. It was infuriating—and Derek knew well that nothing turned her on more.

He let her struggle for another minute, but didn’t push her to the point where frustration started to overcome arousal.

“Please do it,” she whimpered.

He knew what she wanted—what she loved. For him to use the Alpha-tone, like he could rip the orgasm from her unwilling body.

_“Come for me, omega!”_

She screamed as her whole body lurched into her first orgasm in weeks. But as the familiar waves of pleasure wracked her, it was like they were suddenly overwhelmed with something infinitely more intense.

“Lydia.” Derek sounded alarmed. “Your scent just changed.”

“Oh god, I think I just had a contraction,” she gasped, her brain struggling to distinguish where the pleasure ended and the pain began.

As she came down from it, she took in the look of horror on his face. “I swear to god,” she said, punching him, “if you even think about apologizing to me, I will make you and Stiles watch _The Notebook_ every Saturday night for a year.” He looked slightly more calm at that. “You did read the articles I gave you, right? So you know early labor can last for days? Just promise me you’ll not panic like a character in an idiotic movie whenever I have a contraction.”

He huffed out a relieved laugh. “Promise.”

Lydia patted his cheek. “I should have known that a Derek Hale orgasm would be enough to send me into labor. And now thanks to your ridiculous sexual talents, I am going to have my own fucking Christmas miracle child. How is this my life?”

“I suppose if you have this baby on Christmas maybe then you can celebrate your daughter’s birth every holiday season instead of the birth of a major new monotheistic religion.”

“Was that… did you just make a joke, Derek?”

He smiled, which always felt like a sudden burst of sunlight peeping through storm clouds, but so much more rare. She kissed him warmly, reaching for his cock— _Derek Hale’s cock, stuff of dreams_ —when they were interrupted by a loud knock. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that sounded like Theo’s knock,” Lydia said sourly.

Derek took a deep sniff and nodded. “It’s definitely an Alpha.”

Just what they needed. “Are you alright with him, Derek?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” His confusion did look genuine, so maybe he really wasn’t jealous. Either way, he got up to open the door.


	5. Act 4 Scene 1

“Derek, I thought you might be here,” she heard Theo say. “Merry Christmas.” Certainly Theo didn’t sound unhappy to find Derek holed up with the two omegas he’d been fucking for months.

Theo came further into the room, giving her the full picture. He was wearing…. Lydia struggled and finally arrived at “Chippendale Santa” to categorize his ensemble. It consisted of skin-tight red leather pants—Versacci she was almost positive—a white fur jacket, no shirt, just a red satin vest and matching bow-tie. Oh, and a Santa hat.

She’d never seen anything so ridiculous. If the universe made any kind of rational sense, he’d be mortified, but somehow it was Lydia who found herself blushing and squirming.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Lydia struggled with why Theo Raeken unnerved her. There were too many things about him that didn’t quite add up. Seeing him next to Derek was a good example. Derek Hale was the best-looking Alpha Lydia had ever seen—without competition—in addition to being a ruling Alpha of one of the wealthiest, most powerful packs in the country. Theo Raeken was what? A porn-star turned Alpha gigolo of obscure origins. So how was it that Theo seemed so much more confident? He’d just walked in the fucking door and yet he acted like he was welcoming Derek as _his_ guest—Derek who paid for this apartment. And why would Derek tolerate it? Even an omega like Lydia could tell that Derek was more dominant.

But if Derek minded, Lydia couldn’t see it. He took a position at the edge of room, where he lurked with his favorite stony expression, no different than if it had been Stiles arriving rather than Derek’s only real rival for the omega he loved.

In Theo’s defense, Lydia was well aware that a big part of her problem was that she was just too attracted to him. It didn’t make sense. He was in no way her type, with those frat-boy good looks that should be conventional but somehow weren’t due to some unstable alchemy, part sexual charisma and part sharp intelligence that he tried to hide but couldn’t quite.

She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at him—damn it.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” he said. “How are you feeling?” He took a deep sniff and nodded smugly, obviously scenting her orgasm.

“Merry Christmas to you, Theo. I feel very well, thank you,” she said primly. “You look festive.” _Festive was one word for it._

“Thanks, I got invited to a house party at my old producer’s,” he said pulling off his fur jacket. “Of course we ended up filming a Christmas special.”

Lydia squelched an uncharitable thought about the producer responsible for Theo’s “Cody Knots” video oeuvre, lest she be guilty of gross hypocrisy. Pornography was sex work—she defended the legitimacy of sex work. That was all there was to it.

“It sounds lovely,” she said brightly.

“I’ll make sure to get you all copies.” Theo winked at her—he knew exactly what she was thinking. _Fucker_. It was something she never thought she’d say of anyone, but Theo was just too perceptive. Lydia risked a look at Derek to see what _he_ thought of the prospect of receiving a Cody Knots Christmas video. But it was like Theo’s arrival had allowed Derek to shut down, brood over his own concerns without worrying that he was ignoring an omega in his care.

Theo’s watchful eyes flicked from her to Derek, needing only a few seconds to get a read on the situation. “I see that Stiles isn’t here. Was he the omega Kate Argent tried to assault?—I heard it on the radio driving over here.”

“Yes—Peter called just to tell us to put on the news, but we haven’t heard anything since,” Lydia said. “The reporter said he was safe.”

“I heard that too. I guess that means Stiles was Omegatron? I _knew_ it.” He chuckled and shook his head. “He is in so much trouble. I swear he’s not going to be able to sit for a week when I get through with him.”

 _Fucking Theo Raeken._ She glanced over at Derek to see if he had any opinion on _that_ , but he was still lost in his own thoughts. Did he truly not care? And why would Theo announce his intention to give Stiles the spanking of his life in front of Derek? It didn’t come off as a boast. She was no Alpha, but it didn’t seem like Theo was trying to challenge Derek either.

Ugh, and now he was smiling knowingly at her, no doubt scenting her (slight!) uptick in arousal from his absurd remark. “I’m glad you’re back on orgasms. Your scent has changed though—are you in labor?

“A single contraction does not labor make,” she said. Trying to restore some sort of boundary between them, she said crisply, “Can I offer you something, Theo? Derek brought Turkish food, and there are tons of leftovers.”

“Nah, I ate at the party.”

“It sounds like it was fun.”

He took the hint and regaled them—well her, since Derek barely seemed conscious of their presence—with stories from his house party. They were amusing without veering into anything too raunchy, which would have seemed insensitive under the circumstances. Lydia smiled and said all the right things, more interested in Theo’s ability to hit the exact right note for distracting an anxious omega than in his actual anecdotes.

She couldn’t help suspecting Theo knew that too. But either way his strategy worked. She relaxed more than she would have thought possible with Peter and Stiles out there facing down an actual mass-murdering psychopath.

During the course of his tale, she had another contraction—she estimated about thirty minutes after the first. She had to hand it to Theo: he didn’t panic or even look alarmed, just made that same bland smile of his and quipped, “If that’s two, does that mean you are in labor?”

“Time will tell—but you were telling me about the hot tub.”

Again, he followed her lead and continued with his story about their various mishaps trying to shoot a group scene in the hot tub.

The mellow mood was shattered when Derek stiffened, followed a half-second later by Theo, whose eyes snapped towards the door. “Stiles and an Alpha?” Theo said to Derek, who nodded.

“I scent blood,” Derek warned.

“Blood?” Lydia exclaimed, just as there was a loud knock on the door. “Oh god, why isn’t Stiles using his key?”

“Help her,” Derek barked at Theo and went to the door.

Theo moved next to her and put his hand on the back of her neck, a classic Alpha calming gesture which pissed her off—mostly because it did help.

Derek opened the door to Peter, who walked in carrying Stiles bridal style. Stiles, who was unconscious and whose face was spattered with blood.

 


	6. Act 4 Scene 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured I'd post this today instead of over the weekend--apology for the cliffhanger in the previous scene. Next post should be Monday. Hope you enjoy!

“Oh my god!” Lydia covered her mouth with her hands to keep herself from shrieking. This wasn’t happening. “The news said he was fine.”

“Calm, darling, remember the baby,” Peter said.

“What happened, Peter?” Derek growled, eyes going red.

“If you were with him, how was it he got hurt?” Theo said with his bland smile, which suddenly seemed to mask something lethal.

Peter smiled dangerously, his eyes going red too. “Stand down, both of you!”

“Not until you say how he got hurt.” Derek’s fangs had dropped—she’d never seen him challenge his uncle.

How could this even be happening? Stiles was hurt. Which was when she got it. Peter wasn’t scared for Stiles—he was angry that Derek and Theo had challenged him. Peter was playing with them. _Asshole_. But he wouldn’t be doing that if Stiles was hurt—not seriously. If Stiles had been wounded even slightly, he’d be in a hospital—of course he would be. The blood wasn’t his. Goddamned Alphas.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop fighting. I am supposed to be avoiding stress. Peter, stop provoking them. Put Stiles on the bed. Derek and Theo, do not come any closer—if you can’t control yourselves, get out of my apartment.”

“Of course, angel.” Peter gently placed Stiles on the bed next to her, nudging him so his head was nestled on her breasts.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He’s in drop,” Theo said.

“Good job, yes,” Peter nodded at him.

“Why?” Derek growled, still furious.

Theo moved closer, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. Again Lydia half expected Derek to punch him or at least throw it off, but he seemed to let out a breath, relaxing some of the tension.

Peter was watching their interaction closely, she noticed. This was some complex Alpha dynamic she couldn’t parse.

“Peter, what happened?” Lydia prompted.

“Our dear boy was amazing. Apparently he was in a comic store when Kate cornered him. She used the Alpha tone to force him to leave the store with her, but Stiles was still able to fight back, which is extraordinary against an Alpha of Kate Argent’s strength.” Lydia could tell Peter was genuinely impressed. “He argued with her, insulted her repeatedly. He even accused her of setting the bomb that killed Talia.” He paused a second, clearly pained, and then added, “Stiles managed to provoke her, until she retaliated by threatening to torture and murder him. I gave copies of the tape to Fox News, in addition to the Alpha Council and Christopher Argent.”

“Stiles was wearing a wire?” Lydia asked.

“All Hale pack omega collars are fitted with a wireless mic, just to make sure they’re safe.” He smiled mildly, all innocence.

Oh, and she was sure Derek told Stiles he was being recorded 24/7. _Unfuckingbelievable._ And also not the time and place. She took a deep breath. “You said she forced him outside?”

“I promised you he’d never be in danger. As soon as Kate got him out the door of the store, our people stepped in. They had contacted the authorities the moment she approached him, so the police were on the scene almost instantly. As was Fox News, which apparently received an anonymous tip. And as luck would have it, I happened to be just a block away, so I was able to get there within minutes and issue the challenge.” _Oh yes, all very lucky._

“Why’d he drop?” Theo asked.

Lydia would have sworn Peter was pleased by the question. “Naturally, I refused permission for the police to question one of our omegas. I couldn’t stay with him myself, so I made sure he was protected by my best people while I arranged the details of the challenge. A challenge is no place for an omega, so I called a car for him, but there should have been no rush as we were waiting for representatives from the Alpha Council and the two packs—Laura for us and Christopher Argent for them. But apparently Kate did not like her chances in the challenge. She pulled a knife and went right for Stiles—whether to kill him or take him hostage I can only guess.”

Derek let out a savage snarl and Theo whistled. “She went for an omega to escape a challenge?” Obviously it was some huge Alpha honor point, though Lydia thought it about what you should expect from someone capable of blowing up an entire wedding reception full guests, many of them children, in order to kill one senator.

Lydia realized she’d grabbed Peter’s hand. He pulled it to his lips, meeting her eye intently. “Kate couldn’t get to him. The Alpha I’d assigned to guard Stiles stepped in front of him and knocked the blade away.”

An Alpha guard? Lydia took a shaky breath. “Were they okay—the guard?”

“She got a nasty slice on her arm, but nothing life-threatening. I insisted she go to the hospital as a precaution, but she’ll be released as soon as it’s stitched up.”

She met Peter’s eyes again. Of course he knew. He probably had all along. Lydia wondered if anything ever got by him.

“What happened to Kate?” Theo demanded, obviously not interested in a random Alpha guard.

“I ripped her throat out,” Peter said lightly.

“I’ll bet.” Theo looked impressed.

“What about Stiles?” poor Derek shouted.

“Apparently our dear boy does not do well with the sight of blood and went into drop. Admittedly, there was quite a bit, both Kate’s and Braeden’s.”

“Oh god, poor Stiles,” Lydia cried.

“However,” Peter said sharply. “That was bad enough. But his condition was exacerbated by the fact that he’s touch starved. I was not pleased when I found that out: a Hale pack omega. It’s a disgrace. Derek, I mostly blame you for this. And Theo, going forward, if you really do wish to be a member of the Hale pack, consider it your primary duty to make sure that our omegas are properly cared for.”

“Of course, Alpha. It won’t be a problem.” Lydia did not roll her eyes at that—at all.

“It had better not.”

Peter nodded at Theo and Derek. “Derek,” Theo said. “I need your help to bring the stuff up.”

“What stuff?” Lydia asked.

Theo just smiled and he and Derek left the apartment. Peter sat on the bed. “May I?” he asked, nodding at her stomach. She shrugged a yes.

Peter rubbed his hand over her stomach, his expression oddly thoughtful. “Mireille?”

“Yes—or Mimi.”

“Lovely. It’s perfect. You’re in labor?”

She nodded. “It literally just started—early labor can last as long as a day.”

He smiled wryly. “I admit I envy Derek being the one to take care of you, but I can’t apologize for my choices. I know I wasn’t the Alpha you deserved. But please don’t ever doubt how precious you are to me. I hope that you will allow me to be a part of yours and the baby’s life.”

She bit her lips, but forced back the tears. “You were exactly the Alpha I needed—I have no regrets. I will always consider you _family_.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Is…is it really over—with the Argents?”

“I can’t speak for your lover, but for me, yes, it’s over. Kate is dead, and Gerard has been utterly humiliated. A member of his pack, his own daughter, assaulted an omega—their word, their honor is worthless.”

“They’ve not been held accountable though… for your sister.”

“No, but it is enough. Life is short. I have sacrificed enough of mine to that family.”

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?” she said, brushing her hand over her stomach.

“Of course. I’m sorry to lose you, but I can’t fault your choice. I’ve always respected Braeden, and an hour ago she didn’t hesitate a second to take a blade to save Stiles’ life. An Alpha of honor.” It was practically the highest praise he could give.

“Thank you, Peter. Your opinion means a lot to me.” It was nothing but the truth. Peter drove her crazy with his manipulation and mindgames, but she trusted his judgment, especially of other Alphas.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d choose someone so…unconventional. I’ve known her for ten years and she has never been less than completely forthright, and yet I hardly understand her half the time, which is not a problem I often have with Alphas in our pack.”

Lydia smiled, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. Peter was extremely good at reading other Alphas—case in point, he’d clearly reached some conclusion about Theo Raeken, who drove her nuts with his contradictions. But yet he couldn’t figure out Braeden.

“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “You shouldn’t always have it easy figuring people out.”

“Fair point. And I am convinced she cares about you, though how she was able to leave you all these months, I will never understand. I couldn’t have myself if I hadn’t had Derek to keep an eye on you.”

“I promised her I would tell her if I needed her, and she promised to trust that I’d keep my word.”

Peter waved a hand as if the whole concept was nonsense—and to him it was. It was up to the Alpha to assess an omega’s needs and make sure they were met.

“She’s like me,” Lydia tried to explain. “Raised in a single-omega household, except she wasn’t an only child. She had four siblings, all omegas.”

“Five omegas—how on earth could one Alpha care for so many?”

“That’s just the point, Peter. Braeden grew up knowing that omegas can take care of themselves.”

Peter smiled indulgently—it was half genuine, half provocation. “Seems like a shame,” he said. “But speaking of caring for omegas. I do know it must have been difficult for you to accept so much help from Derek, but you did well letting him. And don’t underestimate how much you’ve given him in return. Or how much it means to him that you’d name him godfather. Money is nothing to Derek—how could it be when it couldn’t buy the one thing he wanted, his family back. You gave him a family, and all he had to do was find you a cheap apartment and pay Alan Deaton’s ridiculously modest fee.”

“It was a lot more than that,” she said, looking at Stiles.

“You’re beginning to understand. And now, I think Stiles has had enough rest. Those idiot EMTs wanted me to bring him up, but I explained that no Alpha in our pack would bring an omega up from drop without another pack omega there to help.”

Lydia froze. It was a little too pointed. “Is that what I am?”

“Always, angel,” he said, those stunning blue eyes gentle but unyielding. “We will do our best to respect your wish to be independent, but _you are pack_.”

 _God, way to slip the knife in, Peter._ So much for her dream of living as an emancipated omega. He didn’t try to explain his reasons. Smart. She didn’t fucking want to hear them. No doubt they seemed compelling to him—more threats from the goddamned Argents probably. They’d been the primary focus of Peter’s life for years, and now they’d serve as ample justification to smash her dream to bits.

She pinched her lips together to stop herself from arguing. She knew Peter. There would be no fighting him on this. He was _never_ going to let her go, and if she was pack, then Mimi was too. It was a bitter, bitter pill to have to swallow, especially from Peter, who knew better than anyone what he’d just ripped away.

Braeden couldn’t help her with this. She’d been affiliated with the Hale pack for almost ten years, ever since she quit the US Marshals to become Talia Hale’s bodyguard. The main point of keeping it secret all these months was so that Peter wouldn’t just order Braeden to mate her.

“I will expect your best, Peter,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.

“Of course.” He kissed her forehead, showing that he did at least understand what he’d just taken from her. Nodding at Stiles he said, “Shall we?” He helped lift Stiles so she could put her arms completely around him and then put his own hand on Stiles’ throat and squeezed lightly. _“Omega, attend!”_ he commanded in the Alpha tone.

 _Oh fuck_ —Lydia climaxed on the spot, the shudders blending into a third contraction. She scowled at Peter, but he was focused on Stiles. Stiles’ entire body seized and his eyes flew open. “Alpha,” he whimpered.

“Omega,” Peter nodded. “Glad to have you back with us.”

Stiles gaped, trying to orient. “I’m home? Wow. Lydia? Peter? Peter! Oh my god. That was so awesome—you totally took her out....”

Peter put a finger to Stiles’ lips. “ _You_ were awesome, pet. I could never have taken them down without you, Stiles. And we didn’t just take down the Argents. Thanks to your bravery, the Alpha-Rule party has suffered a blow that I doubt they will ever come back from.”

“Really?” he squeaked.

“Absolutely. You are a true hero to all omegas, Stiles.”

Lydia couldn’t have tolerated the patronizing implications of that, but then again, Peter wouldn’t have said it that way to her. And in fairness, he didn’t just manipulate omegas. She’d seen him manipulate Derek and Cora and any number of Hale retainers, even Theo just now, with exactly that brand of custom-fitted flattery.

It worked exactly as intended with Stiles, who was positively _beaming_ at the Alpha’s approval. She wondered if Peter had been able to uncover what had happened to Stiles. It was next to impossible to access records on an omega, and except for public figures like Megyn Kelly, it was illegal to mention them by name or publish their photographs in any public forum. But the head of the Hale pack might be able to pull strings to find out the background of one of his omegas.

Stiles looked over at her hopefully, looking for confirmation that he could trust Peter’s praise.

“You are a hero— _Omegatron_ ,” Lydia said, wiping a tear. “God, Stiles just think. If Mimi is an omega—what you did—her life is going to be better. Really and truly better for what happened tonight. Because of you.”

Peter squeezed her hand, looking thoughtful. _Yes Peter, there was way more at stake here than the Hale pack pride or your revenge, and it was an omega who did it, who made things better for his own kind. You can sense his needs and maybe even help him heal, but can you understand his hopes? His potential? Would you even try?_

She could only pray that Peter would remember this moment and his promise. And she couldn’t forget Derek—he’d gotten her this apartment when Peter would have forced a collar on her. Derek was trying, learning. And things _had_ changed for the better today. She would not give up hope—she couldn’t for Mimi’s sake.

Turning back to Stiles, Peter’s smile changed subtly to one she recognized, one no doubt intended to remind her of the advantages of being an omega in the Hale pack. Basically it was a smile that would leave any omega with a pulse squirming and gushing slick.

“Stiles, I owe you an apology. Things have been so busy, I haven’t been able to welcome you properly to our pack. And then tonight I find out you’re _touch starved_ , which is completely unacceptable. A Hale pack omega should never have to suffer even an hour’s discomfort for lack of an Alpha to satisfy them, and I will be having stern words with Derek and Theo on how this was allowed to happen. I hope you can forgive us, and in return I promise that Derek and Theo will take as much time as you need until you feel like yourself again.”

_Begging Stiles to have as much sex as he wanted. Gee, subtle._

But of course, her ex-lover wasn’t finished. “I only wish I had time now to show you a small part of _my_ gratitude. Things will be a bit busy for a few days, but after the New Year, I expect you to come by the house so _I_ can show you what is due to a Hale omega.”

Lydia did not kill Peter, but it was a close thing. Stiles looked over at her like he wasn’t sure he could believe it, so she nodded encouragingly. _Yes, Stiles, Peter really did just promise to give you the most epic fuck of your life, and yes, he can deliver on that promise._

Stiles’ eyes were glazed and he took a shaky breath before saying, “Yeah, totally, that sounds, uh, amazing.”

“I look forward to it, pet.” Peter winked at her. Lydia kept her expression serene, but _fucking fuck!_ Peter was the worst. He stood to leave, only to add with perfectly calibrated casualness, “Oh and pet, it’s for Alphas to decide which omegas in the pack need to wear a collar. I think it’s safe to say that _yours_ will not be coming off any time soon. If I hear that you’ve been complaining about it again, it will be my knee you go over, and I promise you will not come during one of my punishments.”

They were both wet and squirming at the steel in Peter’s tone. He wore his dominance lightly with his omegas, but it would sneak out every now and then and when it did, _good god!_

He kissed first her and then Stiles lavishly on the mouth and took his leave.


	7. Act 5 Scene 1

As soon as the door closed, Stiles said shakily, “I couldn’t get your ice cream. I went to Outer Limits…”

“Fuck the ice cream!” she cried, patting him all over to make sure he was all in one piece. “Thank god, you’re okay. When I heard, I was so scared. If anything had happened….”

He clutched her. “I’m really, really glad to be home.”

_Yes, Stiles, you’re home._

“I’m so proud of you, but god, Stiles, promise me you’ll never do anything that dangerous again. If I ever lost you…”

“Hey, I’m way ahead of you. You totally and completely have my promise. Kate Argent is—was—seriously, like, the most terrifying person I have ever seen. Well, except for Peter. Fuck.”

“Don’t mention him. I’m furious at him that he let you do that. Say the word, and I’ll kill him—he doesn’t scare me.”

He smiled goofily. “Cuz you’re so badass, Pregna-girl!”

“Excuse me, who’s the badass, Omegatron?” she punched his shoulder. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said, his voice small. “I had to take care of you and Mimi.”

“I know,” she said, fighting back tears. “And you did it. You saved my life, Stiles. But we get to take care of you too. We’re omegas—we take care of each other.” She kissed him on the mouth. “You are the best friend I have ever had. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They were interrupted by a flurry of activity at the door as Derek came in carrying an eight-foot-tall, fully-decorated Christmas tree, while their resident Chippendale Santa, who’d at least put on a shirt, hefted a large red velvet sack over his shoulder—because of course he did.

Getting a closer look, Lydia realized that Theo’s tree….

_Oh god, he hadn’t._

Yes, he had.

Theo had provided a “naughty” Christmas tree, probably the background set décor for his Cody Knots’ Christmas video. The ornaments consisted of Santas spanking bare-bottomed elves, boobs, ass-cracks, elves humping each other, dildoes etc.

How was this her life?

She looked over at Derek to see what he thought, but he was staring at Stiles who was gaping at the tree.

“Oh my god, I knew it!” Stiles yelled, leaping out of the bed. “I knew you couldn’t hate Christmas that much.” He shook his head at her. “Sneaky, sneaky. Oh my god, look at the ornaments—it’s like a porno tree! That’s hilarious. This is, like, the best Christmas ever!”

At least Stiles didn’t mind the absence of the usual seasonal kitsch.

“It was all Theo’s idea,” she chirped. _Absolutely 100% Theo Raeken_.

“Oh my God, Theo, it’s the greatest.” He leapt into Theo’s arms, wrapping his legs around his waist and giving him a massive kiss.

“Glad you like it, pup,” Theo said kissing him and putting him back on the ground.

“And you brought presents?”

“Of course,” Theo said. “It’s Christmas!”

Lydia looked at Derek to see if he was bothered by this: he didn’t look pleased, but it was nothing more than his usual gloomy expression. If he was burning up with jealousy of Theo, he certainly hid it well.

“Can we do them now—the presents?” Stiles asked Theo.

“That’s the idea.”

“Okay, mine are in my apartment! Oh my god! My _Outer Limits_ bag—I bought you all stuff, but I must have lost the bag when Kate….”

“Here it is.” Derek held it up. “Peter had it brought over.”

Stiles nodded warily at Derek. “Thank you,” he said coolly, nothing like he’d been with Theo. Lydia pursed her lips, hating to see that kind of snub but not wanting to do anything that might create more tension between the two alphas.

“Okay, right—we’re doing this,” Stiles said. “Let me get the rest of my presents….”

“Hold on, pup,” Theo stopped him. “We’ll get them for you. You go hop in the shower.” Theo nodded at Stiles’ face and clothes, which were still spattered with blood.

“Whoa, yeah, that’s blood,” Stiles squeaked, swaying and going pale.

Theo caught him before he could faint. “Easy, I got you,” the Alpha said, and picked Stiles up and carried him to the bathroom. “Lydia, you wouldn’t mind a quick shower, would you?” he asked in that Alpha way that made it into an order. At least he realized that Stiles shouldn’t be alone.

“Of course not,” she said, “I’d kill for… I’d _love_ a shower.” It wasn’t a lie—between the “fluid production” and her orgasm with Derek, she was already sticky and uncomfortable.

“Tell Derek where to find your presents,” Theo told Stiles.

“Oh, they’re kind of in a garbage bag under my bed,” Stiles said. “Don’t look inside!”

Derek nodded and left to get them—not asking Stiles for his key, Lydia noticed.

After depositing Stiles, Theo came and picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. The smarmy wink when he set her down on the closed toilet was annoying, but somehow the whole thing wasn’t as embarrassing as it had been with Derek.

She and Stiles repeated their usual shower routine, only this time she held the sprayer so she could wash him off.

Also, this time, their friendly neighborhood gigolo was standing there with a big towel to dry them both off when they came out. Theo had also brought a clean outfit for Stiles, which he helped Stiles get into, before helping her into yet another pink polyester robe.

Another contraction hit as he carried her back to the bed. He looked at her questioningly and she whispered so Stiles wouldn’t hear, “They’re still at least twenty minutes apart. I’m not even supposed to call the doctor until they’re coming every five minutes.”

Theo nodded, implicitly agreeing to her equally implicit request that they not say anything just yet to Stiles, who was practically jumping through the ceiling at the prospect of opening presents.

Through some unspoken arrangement between the Alphas, Derek ended up sitting with Lydia, his arm around her, while Theo played host and helped corral Stiles.

“Can I go first?” he cried. “Please.”

“Go ahead,” Theo told him.

“Okay, these were from before, when I didn’t have any money,” he said, picking up his garbage bag with a bratty look at Derek. He reached in and handed them each a gift box with a Thanksgiving color scheme, which turned out to hold a dozen chocolate turkeys. “So obviously these were left over from Thanksgiving, and they put them on remainder, but then they didn’t sell and they needed the shelf space for the Christmas merchandise. And, like, they were just gonna throw them out—which was crazy, right? So I might have shoved them in my bag before they could take them out back. But don’t worry—I tried them and they’re totally delicious.”

“Thank you. I’ve been dying for some chocolate,” she cried, immediately opening hers and eating a turkey. “You’re right, they’re good!” She offered one to Derek who ate it, nodding thanks.

“Thank you, pup. I love it,” Theo said.

“But these are my real presents,” Stiles said, grabbing the Outer Limits Bag. “I couldn’t wrap them—you know, _because_. But here.”

He distributed the gifts, a tiny Wonder Woman onesie for Mimi and T-shirts for her, Theo and Derek that said “Keep Calm and Hail Megatron!”

“And, like, I thought, you know, now that everyone knows, I could get a white marker and put a little O right there,” he said, with an impish smile.

“So we’ll be hailing Omegatron, is that it?” she teased

“Yeah, that way you can all be charter members of my fan club!”

“Thanks, pup, this is great,” Theo said with a big smile, while Derek actually took his shirt off ( _ahem_ ) and put his new Megatron T-shirt on.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get anyone anything…” Lydia started to say.

“No way!” Stiles said. “Besides, you’re giving us Mimi, and that totally counts as the best gift ever.”

She realized then it probably was for the best that she hadn’t bought presents: Stiles was positively beaming. He was so proud of himself for managing to get gifts for everyone, even with no money. She was more than willing to come off as incompetent or lame rather than risk showing him up.

Theo went next. “Well since this is probably going to be our only ‘adult’ Christmas, I thought I’d get you two a few items for our toy box.”

The _items_ being a new vibrator for her and a cock cage and butt plug for Stiles, as well as dildos colored to look like candy canes for each of them—and Theo had remembered to get hers without the knot and Stiles’ with, since he was just _so thoughtful_ that way.

Stiles was thrilled. “Oh my god, this is so awesome! Check it out, Lydia!”

“Awesome is right,” she said brightly. “Thank you so much, Theo.”

She checked on Derek’s reaction, but he just huffed a small laugh when Stiles held his new dildo up for Derek to admire.

“But here are your _real_ gifts. These are from me and Derek,” Theo said, and passed her a professionally-wrapped gift-box—from _La Perla,_ only her favorite lingerie store in the world. And then handed Stiles a much bigger box.

Lydia knew what it was the second she opened the box: one of their _Maison_ silk robes, the one in viridian green, and absolutely the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. “Oh my god, Theo!”

And then she realized he’d said it was from him and Derek, who’d clearly told her he’d not gotten her anything.

She was startled from her confusion by Stiles, who was shouting, “Oh my God, an Xbox One!” He looked thunderstruck.

“We got you these games to go with it,” Theo said, handing him another present. Stiles ripped it open, nearly hyperventilating. “On my god, oh my god!” He jumped up to hug Theo and with slightly more awkwardness hugged Derek, before jumping around the room, showing off his new games. “Skyrim, nice. GTA, _Halo 5!_ Assassins Creed: Syndicate— _yes_. Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare—I have been _dying_ to play that. No—you did not get Batman: Arkham Knight? These are, like, _totally_ the best games!”

And almost certainly Theo’s picks.

Lydia noticed Theo exchange a glance with Derek, which was when she realized that Derek must have gotten the Xbox as his gift for Stiles, while Theo had indeed gotten the games. For some reason, Theo had made it appear like all the gifts were joint.

“Thank you,” she told Derek, kissing his cheek. He nodded awkwardly, as he would at getting thanked for a gift they both knew he’d had nothing to do with.

To Theo she said, “It is _perfect_ —I just.... Thank you.” She kissed him, shuddering as his tongue swept her mouth.

Theo really did look pleased—as he should. It was no small feat for a man to choose the perfect gift for her. Lydia was extremely particular about everything to do with her clothes—color, fit, fabric, drape all had to be exactly right or she wouldn’t buy or wear it. Even Peter, who had a fantastic eye for clothes, had preferred accompanying her on shopping sprees to trying to pick something for her on his own. She’d coveted a _Maison_ robe for ages, but had never said anything to anyone. Even with Peter paying, she couldn’t justify it to herself since they were more than a thousand dollars and she already had a (very expensive) cashmere robe.

“Wow, Lydia, that looks really nice.” Stiles spared a single glance at her robe. “Check out my Xbox! I can’t believe it—thank you guys so much.”

She smiled, rubbing her face against the liquid silk of her robe, wondering what Theo was up to. Her nasty side, that liked finding fault with him, would have assumed that he was just trying to take credit for Derek’s gift. Except he’d shared credit with Derek for his own gift, which cost five times as much as an Xbox, and had taken a lot more thought—at least Lydia thought so. How hard was it to walk into Best Buy and grab an Xbox? Though in fairness to Derek, an Xbox was as perfect a choice for Stiles as the robe was for her.

Then again, remembering the tone during their dinner earlier tonight, if the Xbox had come just from Derek, the gift might have become a casualty in their fight over money and the collar. But coming from both Derek and Theo, Stiles could just feel overjoyed at getting what he most wanted without it being poisoned. She almost believed Theo and Derek had conspired while they were downstairs together, but she couldn’t quite buy it. She had a feeling Theo had made a snap decision after seeing the coolness between Derek and Stiles, especially since he obviously knew beforehand that Stiles was getting the Xbox.

She gathered from Stiles’ rapid-fire comments that the ancient TV which had come with her apartment could not support an Xbox, but Theo’s could and he invited Stiles to set it up tomorrow.

“But right now, I have one more present—this one’s for the house,” Theo announced. “Stiles, why don’t you do the honors.”

Stiles was thrilled and ripped the paper off like an eager toddler. “A _Party Time_ music player,” he read from the box, and held it up for her to see. “See, it’s got, like, a light machine and speakers. Oh my god, that’s so cool. Can we set it up right now? Christmas eve dance party!”

“Totally, let’s do it!” Theo said, before adding to her, “If you don’t mind?”

She managed to smile through another contraction before saying, “Be my guest. By all means, let’s have a Christmas dance party.”

Theo nodded at Derek, who was suddenly on his feet, and the two of them began moving her couch and little dining table to the walls to create a dance space, while Stiles unpacked the “Party Time player,” sorting through the various cords and getting them connected, barely needing to glance at the instructions. “Anyone have an iPod?” Stiles called, as he plugged it in.

“I got this,” Theo said, inserting his iPhone into the slot. He turned out all the lights except the one near her bed. Stiles flicked the switch and the room was suddenly spinning with balls of fuchsia light that a few seconds later changed to green stars, just as the song “Wobble” started playing.

Lydia was rather less than fond of it but it was Stiles’ favorite: he clapped and shouted, “Oh yeah, this is what I’m talking about,” and immediately started up the eponymous line dance. “Theo come on!”

Theo joined him of course. Stiles looked so happy, she decided he wasn’t doing it to make Derek jealous—at least in this. Derek really wasn’t a “Wobble dance” kind of guy.

Derek of course couldn’t take his eyes off of Stiles. Lying next to her, he felt like an undetonated explosive, poised for something. She had to stop thinking it was to attack Theo. Whatever had been happening here tonight was not following that _Melrose Place_ -type script of jealous Alphas challenging each other over a hot omega.

The song segued into an even bigger eye-roller, Justin Timberlake’s Sexyback, another favorite of Stiles. Watching him, she got a taste of what he must have been like at the clubs. He was so clumsy the rest of the time, but his dancing was one of the few things Stiles was truly confident about. He was all over Sexyback, swiveling his hips and ass, pumping his arms: _just what that boy could do with his pelvis!_

But if Stiles knew how to work it, so did Theo. The Alpha began circling slowly around Stiles, gaze assessing. Theo made a small nod, indication that Stiles should show him what was on offer. Stiles smiled and delivered, turning his moves into an open invitation, not subtle at all but not quite sleazy either. Even for an omega like Lydia, it was crazy-hot, but she knew that for Alphas the effect was magnetic.

Lydia had never been a club-goer, but she could see that there was a formula, a choreography to their moves. They were both players, both familiar with the dance floor negotiations typical at the clubs.

After a minute of letting Stiles show off his moves, Theo made another nod, apparently the signal for Stiles to take his shirt off. Next to her, Derek’s eyes were glowing red and Lydia caught a glimpse of fang, but Theo’s expression was neither approving nor disapproving, just intent. Theo made a twirling motion with his finger, and Stiles obeyed, turning as he kept up his dance moves.

The song shifted again, to Rihanna’s S&M—Theo was subtle that way. Lydia could see Stiles swallowing and his eyes glazing: he was rapidly sliding into his omega-space. And then to her surprise, Theo nodded at Derek, who prowled towards Stiles, looking almost angry. She half expected Derek to dance with him, but he just stood there scowling with his arms folded.

Stiles had no defenses against behavior that dominant. The bratty defiance he’d been showing all night to Derek evaporated, and he looked at Theo, desperate for some clue of what was expected. Without changing his calm expression, Theo nodded that Stiles should direct his dance to Derek. Now his dance moves were openly foreplay, as he worked his hips against Derek’s package. After a minute, Theo moved behind Stiles and pushed him to his knees. Derek unzipped and just waited. Stiles almost frantically pulled the Alpha’s dick out and began licking it.

She caught another exchange of glance between Derek and Theo and then Theo knelt behind Stiles, pinning his arms and forcing his legs apart. Derek grabbed Stiles by his Hale-pack collar to hold his head, and shoved all the way in, practically choking him. What followed was basically face fucking, as Derek rammed his dick into Stiles’ mouth, not holding back at all that she could tell. There were tears streaming down Stiles’ face, but Lydia knew how much he craved being used like this.

She’d never actually watched Derek with anyone before—when it came to sex, it was an unspoken rule of the Hales that an Alpha can only tend properly to one omega at a time. Needless to say Theo hadn’t had that problem—if anything he had the opposite rule: he only ever fucked her and Stiles together, never separately. He had no trouble choreographing matters to leave them both satisfied—more than satisfied—a skill that was clearly on display tonight, as he went about arranging all of them like little pieces on his game board.

The rational part of her was deeply disturbed by this, while her more self-indulgent side shuddered at the memory of just how satisfying it was when Theo took the reins. Theo’s head snapped around—fucking Alpha scent. But she could have sworn his expression was questioning—almost like he was checking for her approval.

Derek jerked to a finish, still looking angry. The music changed again, this time to one of the more psychedelic tracks off of “Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia,” which was one of _her_ favorite albums.

There was another mysterious exchange of glances between the Alphas, which led to Derek pulling Stiles up by his arm and passing him over to Theo, who dragged him over to the sofa, yanked down his pants, and positioned him over his lap.

Next thing, Derek was back with her, lifting her onto his lap so he could wrap his arms all the way around her, nibbling at her neck, just as Theo began spanking Stiles.

This part was nothing new, though it was nothing short of surreal watching it with Derek. Getting spanked by an Alpha was almost a compulsion for Stiles—at least when he was with Theo. Lydia found it a lot harder to imagine Derek spanking him.

It only took about twenty swats when Stiles shuddered and came. In the past Theo had always stopped then and fucked him hard over the back of the sofa. But tonight, the moment Stiles came, Theo gripped his neck and increased the force of his smacks.

Stiles knew the difference immediately. “What the fuck?” he yelled.

“You put yourself in unnecessary danger,” Theo said calmly. “You practically dared Kate Argent to hurt you. You’re touch starved. You’ve been punishing your Alpha by not taking care of yourself. This is not acceptable.”

“Fuck, I get it! I’m sorry!” Stiles screamed.

“That’s not good enough. Tonight, if you want me to stop, you’re going to have to safeword.”

Lydia tensed. She remembered the first night she and Stiles had gotten together with Theo. The Alpha had ordered Stiles to choose a safeword, and Stiles had suddenly turned almost hostile and said coldly, with nothing like his usual bravado, that it didn’t matter because he would never use it.

Theo hadn’t tried to argue, just said calmly that they couldn’t play without it. Luckily for hers and Stiles’ sex life, Theo knew his business well enough not to ask her for a safeword, since she refused to do anything with an Alpha who thought she might possibly need one. Unlike Stiles, she did not enjoy pain and detested anything that smacked of humiliation.

Since that night, the safeword had never been mentioned again. But Theo had also never tried to push against Stiles’ limits—until now. Theo kept a steady pace, but the smacks kept getting harder, until finally Stiles just freaked, thrashing and kicking, screaming furiously, “Fuck you, Theo. Go to hell! You bastard, you’re hurting me!”

“And all it will take to make it stop is one word. Why aren’t you using it?”

“I fucking hate you, Theo! I won’t forgive you for this.”

“That’s okay.” Theo’s voice was still perfectly even. “But there are people here who care about you, who depend on you. This self-destructive behavior of yours stops tonight.”

“Go fuck yourself. I won’t.”

She’d never seen Stiles like this. This was too much. She opened her mouth to object, when Derek tightened his grip. _“Don’t interfere, omega,”_ he ordered, making her shudder. In her ear, he said gently, “Lydia, I promise. Raeken knows what he’s doing.”

“You’d better be right,” she practically growled.

“Stiles,” Theo was saying, “don’t kid yourself. I can do this all night if I have to. I know it hurts—that’s why _you need to make it stop_.”

Finally Stiles let out a horrendous scream. “I hate you. I hate you! _Sheriff_.”

Theo stopped instantly and pulled Stiles up, murmuring into his ear, “You’re safe, Stiles. You’re safe. I’m so proud of you.”

Sheriff—weird. She’d totally forgotten that was his safeword. She wondered if it was some comic book or superhero reference.

Theo nodded again at Derek, who shifted her back onto the bed. He kissed her and murmured, “Thank you for trusting me,” and then got up and went over to the sofa.

Stiles was nearly hysterical: he ripped away from Theo so he could throw himself on Derek, kissing him frantically, and then fumbling to get Derek’s pants undone. That at least was more usual—Stiles was always desperate to be fucked after a spanking.

Derek was completely Alpha’d out, eyes glowing, fangs out, as he picked Stiles up, carried him over to the wall, and then thrust into him, using that ridiculous strength of his to hold Stiles up as he basically fucked the living daylights out of him.

Lydia herself had extremely vivid memories of being fucked by Derek when he was like this. It was not the kind of thing you could forget. He was so cautious and restrained most of the time, but every now and then he would just _unleash_ , and you’d suddenly realize what he used all that energy to contain—a smoldering mass of raw Alpha aggression far beyond Peter or Theo or any other Alpha she’d ever encountered.  

Just thinking about it brought on a surge of arousal, that once again morphed into a contraction. She wondered what it said about her that her early labor was turning into a surreal meld of orgasmic contractions.

After a few minutes of savage fucking, Stiles wailed—the unmistakable sound of an omega taking a knot. Derek carried him over to the couch, where they could wait out the twenty minutes it would take to go down. Theo had gone to the kitchen and gotten a glass of water. He made Stiles drink it down and then put a blanket over him, as he and Derek both succumbed to that insane sensory overload that happened during knotting.

Theo came back over to the bed, that same slightly smug smile on his face that someday—when she wasn’t pregnant and in fucking labor—she was going to smack off of him. “So you are the omega-whisperer?” she said snidely.

He sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what I did to lose your trust, but I would never hurt them.”

_Them—not Stiles. Just too clever, this boy._

“Maybe not, but you could. And you didn’t lose my trust, because you never had it.” His expression didn’t falter by an iota. “How do you know Peter, Theo?”

“Because I went and introduced myself to him before I came by your apartment the first time.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Look, I don’t expect an omega to get it, but there’s a way things have to be done with an old-school pack like the Hales. Derek was paying the rent on your apartments, Stiles is wearing a Hale collar and you’re pregnant. You don’t do anything with Hale pack omegas without getting permission first from Peter Hale.”

“So what, did Peter hire you—to _tend to_ me and Stiles?”

That at least got a reaction. “No. He tried to, and I told him what I tell all Alphas: that I only make contracts with omegas.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“I assumed it was a test. I know he had me checked out. He said he was glad to know you’d both be in good hands.”

“Have you been spying on us for him?”

“No. I would never do something like that.”

“Why not? You clearly were hoping to become part of the Hale pack.”

“I admit I was trying to be pack. But I would do that by showing I could take care of their omegas, and you don’t do that by violating an omega’s trust. And anyway, like I said, the Hales are old-school. Peter would never have let me keep seeing you if he didn’t consider me worthy of being pack.” She snorted. _Fucking Alphas_. “But I wasn’t doing any of this to be Hale pack—I want to be in your pack.”

“My pack?”

“With Derek and Stiles—and Mimi when she gets here.”

“Don’t you mean Derek’s then?”

“I mean _yours_.”

“Omegas don’t have packs, Theo.”

He sighed. “A pack like the one you wrote about: in _Household Structures in Polytheistic Societies_?”

“You read my thesis?”

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed—finally something other than a smug smile from him. “You gave us all copies, remember?”

That was true, after Stiles insisted, but she’d told them with complete sincerity that she had no expectation that they would ever want to read an academic paper on comparative anthropology. Stiles hadn’t gotten past the first page, and she prayed to every omega fertility deity who ever existed that Derek hadn’t forced himself to read it. But Theo had—and apparently had understood the contents, well enough to make some pretty astute inferences about her personal stake in the question?

“And tonight—with Stiles and Derek?”

“This is what I do—I wanted to show you that I can help.”

He was watching her—he was always watching. She forced herself to think rationally about the trust problem. She wasn’t wrong: Theo was dangerous. Anyone that perceptive, that good at manipulating people was dangerous. But then she remembered the other incredibly manipulative Alpha in her life, who wasn’t just _potentially_ dangerous. Peter had used Stiles as bait to bring down one of the most powerful, murderous packs in America. Theo had messed with a few Christmas gifts to heal an ugly rift between two lovers.

Peter didn’t make her nearly as uneasy, but it wasn’t fair—Peter lied shamelessly to those he claimed to love, risked Stiles’ life for the sake of his revenge, and tonight had cavalierly informed her that he was asserting total legal authority over her and her daughter. Her only real problem with Theo was that he could read her better than she could read him, something that almost never happened to her and that her ego didn’t appreciate.

And it didn’t help said ego that Peter had clearly figured Theo out and concluded he was no threat.

Well, if it was her pack— _yeah right_ \--and he wanted to join, then they would begin matters by making a few things clear. “You’re dangerous, Theo Raeken, if that’s even your name. Except for Peter, I’ve never seen anyone as good at manipulating people as you are. You don’t add up—you’re too smart. I have no idea what you’re after. But you’ve never hurt us. You did help Derek and Stiles tonight and you picked out the _perfect_ gift for me, which is almost impossible. And you are a sensational fuck. All of which means I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But don’t cross me. I won’t forgive you, and Peter would kill you in a second if I asked him to—or if he thought you’d fucked with his omegas. And Hale pack or not, your loyalty is to me and Stiles and Derek, not Peter. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Lovely. Then welcome to my completely theoretical pack.” She reached up and patted his cheek and then kissed him. He kissed back, as always showing just enough force to be sexy, without coming close to anything boorish. “Sensational,” she murmured.

He treated her to that bland smile. “Speaking of danger. Your baby-Alpha—the one who was injured protecting Stiles—are they alright?”

_Touché._

“We’re going to do very well, Theo. Now, come sit. I want to hear all about how you chose this exquisite robe. I do believe you are the first male to successfully pick out a piece of clothing for me.”

She moved over so he could lie down next to her and begin one of his amusing, perfectly-judged anecdotes on his adventure shopping at La Perla.


	8. Act 5 Scene 2

After a scene that intense, Stiles always wanted one thing—to curl up next to her. It was a normal omega response, the reason omegas almost always shared beds when they were allowed to. The last thing he wanted was an Alpha near him, which would keep him tensed and expectant.

Theo invited Derek to come sleep at his apartment, which Derek responded to with a trademark Alpha stare. He was offended at the idea of leaving her now that she was in labor, even just to go down two floors.

In Derek’s defense, her contractions were coming steadily, every fifteen minutes, and were definitely more intense. But they still had a long way to go: Alan Deaton had told her to call him when they were five minutes apart and leave for the hospital at four minutes.

“Derek, it could be another twelve hours for all we know. I promise, I will call or send Stiles down or just scream the moment I need you. But we all are going to need to be rested. And not just because of the baby: today was really overwhelming for Stiles, and it’s going to take days for him to sort out everything. I know him, and he’s going to want to throw everything he has into taking care of me and the baby, but that means I need _you_ to take care of him. Please. I know how much it is to ask, but please trust me.”

Derek really looked like he was going to argue, but Theo put a hand on his shoulder and murmured something in his ear, and it was like his stubbornness just collapsed. Derek was obviously exhausted, though that didn’t really help her make sense of his relationship with Theo. But that was a problem for another day _._

Theo came and checked one final time on Stiles. “Call me if he doesn’t surface in half an hour,” he said.

“Thank you—for everything,” Lydia murmured and gripped his hand. Theo nodded, understanding, and guided Derek out the door.

Lydia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at peace, lying with Stiles in her arms, the room dark except for the blinking lights on _her_ very own pornographic Christmas tree.

Twenty-five minutes after they left, Stiles woke briefly, just as Theo said he would, enough to mumble, “Best Christmas ever,” and fall back asleep. If he was upset about the spanking, she saw no sign.

The snow had started up again, making a delicate scratching sound against the panes, oddly in harmony with Stiles’ steady breathing and the barely audible click from the blinking tree lights.

Even as the interval between the contractions edged downwards, to her surprise she felt no impatience for the birth to progress. Labor had started—it was all finally happening—but she felt alright savoring these final hours before her life changed irrevocably.

Some time around 2am, she heard the sound of the lock turning, and for the first time since she’d moved into this building, she just knew it wasn’t Derek or Stiles.

Braeden came in, and for a second the sight took her breath away. How could anyone be that beautiful? As always, she was dressed like a total badass in a short leather jacket and tight jeans, holding her motorcycle helmet. She looked a little uncertain, until she saw that Lydia was awake. Braeden’s knowing smile made her heart ache.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Lydia said. “You are just in time.”

Braeden took a deep sniff. “You’re in labor?”

“It’s all Derek’s fault—he gave me one of his preposterously intense orgasms, and I kid you not, I went into labor on the spot.”

It broke the slight awkwardness of seeing each other again, as they both dissolved into giggles. Lydia nudged Stiles over a little so Braeden could slide into the bed next to her, and then shifted so she could rest her head on her lover’s shoulder for the first time in six months.

She felt something slide into place—a sense of rightness, of completion. There was something very pure about the relief she felt. There was never any feeling of burden with Braeden—any sense of owing or disappointing or guilt. She’d discovered that was what happened when two people could speak their minds to each other and just know that they’d be understood—when they really and truly trusted each other. She’d not had it since her mom died, and she’d never in a million years imagined she could have that openness with an Alpha.

Even the stress of an accidental pregnancy hadn’t weakened it: when it came to the point, they’d both been able to be honest about what it might mean for them, about priorities and dreams and costs. The choice to stay apart had been painful for both of them, but looking into Braeden’s eyes now, Lydia felt the unspeakable relief of knowing that they’d made it honestly and fairly—without regrets or recriminations for either of them.

Lydia leaned up and kissed her, her hand moving over those extraordinary scars that Braeden had gotten trying to save Talia Hale’s two youngest children.

“Thank you,” Braeden said quietly. “For letting me finish this.”

“Is it over?”

“Kate’s dead—that’s the big part. Things with the Argents are going to be a mess for a while. Nothing we can’t handle, but I don’t know when…”

“Shh.” Lydia put a finger to her mouth. “You trusted me for six months. Don’t stop now. You do what you have to. Just stay safe.”

“God, I love you,” Braeden said.

“Yeah,” Lydia said. “I really, really love you.”

They kissed again, deeper, until Lydia was forced to pull back as another contraction hit—they were getting closer.

“It hurt?” Braeden asked.

This one actually did, enough that she reached for those stupid breathing exercises to help her get through it. “They’re beginning to. Mostly they’ve just felt like bad cramps.”

“I can hear her heartbeat—our girl. I cannot believe how huge you are.”

Lydia giggled. “Well, that’s because I’m approximately the size of a Mini-Cooper.”

Next to them, Stiles let out one of his little snorts and muttered something about Batman.

“Wow, I didn’t realize that kid could shut up,” Braeden said. “Never seen another like him: skinny little omega boy, totally trash-talking Kate Argent, calling her out on setting the bomb, and then goes over like a sack of potatoes the moment he sees a drop of blood.

Lydia touched the bandage on Braeden’s arm—yet another legacy of Kate Argent’s war of annihilation against the Hales. “I heard it was more than a drop. Thank you for saving him.”

“Just doin’ my job, babe.”

“Peter says I’m pack.”

Braeden didn’t say anything, just kissed the top of her head and held her close. It was one of the things Lydia loved best about her. Braeden knew better than anyone what it meant to Lydia, but she didn’t have the usual Alpha need to rush in and save the day—the legacy of growing up with four younger omega siblings, all drama queens according to Braeden, who’d told her in no uncertain terms to back the fuck off when she tried to offer advice. Omegas weren’t precious creatures to be cherished and protected, even against their will: they were people who should get to take the same risks and fuck things up just like everyone else.

But that didn’t mean Lydia couldn’t ask for reassurance if she needed it—it felt good to ask, instead of always having it thrust on you. “You think I was just kidding myself—thinking I could get emancipated?”

“Are you high? Of course not. You wanted something—something really important to you—and you fought for it. Don’t go blaming yourself because Peter is a complete asshole.”

“I can practically hear you thinking. Just tell me—I’m not one of your sisters. I promise I won’t get mad.”

“I’m not defending Peter, okay. You’re right to be mad at him, but when I look around, you know what I see? You wearing that cheap, ugly robe you wrote me about so many times, living in a crappy apartment. Know what I don’t see? You at Peter’s with a bite or a Hale pack collar on your neck. Look, just, you’ve got a lot of what you wanted; just because you’re Hale pack, doesn’t mean you can’t create your omega pack too.”

“It’s weird: Theo said something similar tonight.”

“That would be the porn-star neighbor? Cody something?”

“His stage name is Cody Knots.”

“Seriously? Cody Knots?”

“I try hard not to think about it, and he’s mostly retired now. Anyway, Peter made him pack, but I guess he read my thesis. He told me he wanted in _my_ pack—an omega pack.”

“So basically you’ve got Omegatron here, Cody Knots, and the sourwolf? It sounds a helluva lot more like _your_ pack, Lyds, than something Peter would put together.”

“You still think your brother and sister might be interested in living with us?”

“Hayden and Corey? Are you kidding me? Right now, they’re sharing a futon in, I don’t even know what to call it—like a _nook_ off the kitchen—with seven housemates? You give them their own room, I promise you’ll have free babysitting for life.”

Another contraction hit. “I guess I should start timing these.”

“It was six minutes.” There was something ridiculously sexy about how Braeden just knew that.

“I suppose I should wake up the boys.”

“This is really happening. Our little girl.” Braeden ran her hand over Lydia’s stomach.

“You still okay if Stiles is in the delivery room with us?”

Braeden kissed her on the mouth. “I’ll tell you what you told me: you do what you have to. Don’t worry about me.”

“I missed you—I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Lydia took a deep breath and then poked Stiles. “Stiles! Stiles!”

“What, what?” he sputtered and then saw Braeden. “Oh my god, it’s you? You totally saved my life—thank…. OH. MY. GOD!—does this mean? Oh my god, you’re like the baby-alpha. Holy shit. I was so sure it was… Holy shit. Talk about Wonder Woman. Mimi is going to be, like, the most gorgeous, most badass, most terrifying baby in California!”

“Of course she will be,” Lydia said. “But Stiles, you need to get Derek. It’s time.”

“It’s time?” he shouted. “Oh my god, it’s time! I need to get dressed. I need to get Derek. What… what…”

Somehow Lydia wasn’t surprised when Derek practically burst through the door, having heard Stiles’ shout. His eyes flared red when he spotted Braeden, who just smirked.

The Alpha posturing was derailed as another contraction hit—this one definitely painful.

“It’s still five minutes,” Braeden said, totally calm. Thank her training in the U.S. Marshalls—or maybe growing up with the four omega drama queens.

Stiles of course freaked. “That was a contraction! Holy Shit! We need to get to the hospital!”

Lydia did not roll her eyes. At all.

“Theo’s getting the car!” Derek growled, sounding just a shade shy of panic. She’d never planned on having Theo anywhere near the birth, but now she felt relieved. It would be good to have another cool head present because apparently the two godfathers were going to need it.

Damn it, this wasn’t supposed to be like a moronic TV sitcom. Leave it to Stiles and Derek to start running around like complete clichés.

“Derek,” she snapped. “I need to call Deaton. Help Stiles get dressed since he’s acting like an idiot. Braeden, there’s a packed bag in the closet, along with some yoga pants and a sweatshirt.”

Braeden made her a joking salute as Derek grabbed Stiles and dragged him over to his little pile of clothes.

She dialed Dr. Deaton, who answered on the first ring. “Lydia.”

“You’re awake,” she said.

“I had a feeling,” he said in that Zen way of his.

“I’m sorry to pull you out on Christmas morning.”

“I’m the one who chose to specialize in obstetrics. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be just behind you.”

Theo came in then. “The car’s up front. I left it running.” As usual, he seemed to take in everything in one glance, and went to help Derek corral Stiles long enough to get him dressed. Meanwhile, Braeden helped her out of her horrible pink robe—which _maybe_ she wouldn’t throw away just yet—and into the yoga pants, a sweatshirt and socks. She didn’t bother with shoes or even a bra. The hospital would put her in a gown as soon as she got there, and Derek was obviously gearing up to show off his ridiculous Alpha strength by carrying her down the three flights of stairs to the car.

As soon as Stiles was dressed he pulled away from the Alphas and ran back to her. “What should I do? What do you need?”

He sounded so desperate. Before he could start panicking, she cried, “Stiles—oh my god, we can’t forget the bag with Mimi’s coming-home outfit in it—the one we packed!” She’d planned to have it brought over later, but never mind.

Stiles looked thunderstruck. “Holy Shit!” obviously the only phrase in his repertoire that could justice to tonight’s events. “Okay, I totally got this!” He ran into the closet and emerged holding up the small bag.

“Oh my god, thank you!” she said, and then to Derek, “Okay, Derek—are we doing this?”

Derek looked ready to walk into battle against the entire Argent pack. He nodded, clearly past the power of speech, and went and hefted her into his arms. Braeden made a kind of _‘not bad’_ nod at what was a truly impressive feat of strength.

As they walked towards the door, Lydia smothered another contraction to cry out, “Stiles—the lights, and lock up after you.”

“On it!” he practically squeaked.

“What I tell you, babe?” Braeden murmured in Lydia’s ear as she left the apartment for the first time in five weeks. “You got your pack.”


	9. Epilogue

_Mimi’s One Week Birthday—referred to by some as New Year’s._

_Lydia Martin’s Garret. The room is mostly the same, with the addition of a standing bassinet and about a hundred other items of baby paraphernalia, mostly gifts from Peter, plus a cat woman baby sleep-suit from Stiles, and a “Happy One Week Birthday Mimi!” banner over the windows, also from Stiles. There is still a Christmas, excuse me, Modraniht tree, but the pornographic ornaments somehow disappeared before Mimi’s homecoming._

 

Lydia pulled a tray of Trader Joe mini-quiches and samosas from the oven, replacing them with one holding frozen mini-tacos and pigs-n-blankets—Stiles had insisted on those. She put the cooked hors d’oeuvres on a plate next to the crudités and dip. On the other side of the room, Stiles was setting up the “Party Time music player” while Theo used the bed to change Mimi’s diaper and put her in the new purple velvet “birthday” dress he’d bought her.

One week. It really shouldn’t be possible for things to change so much in seven days. Just being on her feet doing something as simple as reheating frozen samosas felt ridiculously empowering. Dr. Deaton had joked that one of the hidden benefits of giving birth was that it “cured” pregnancy. The GD had just vanished—gone, an hour after she delivered the baby, like it had never been. The first time she’d been able to get up and go to the bathroom without help had felt like a major life milestone, almost bigger than the first time Mimi successfully latched on to nurse.

It felt so good to be on her feet, she didn’t even care that she was still huge, having lost only about half the weight she’d gained.

“You’re sure Derek said he was coming?” Stiles asked for the fourth time.

“He said he’d do anything to be here,” Lydia answered patiently. The one bummer in her sea of awesome was that within hours of Mimi’s birth, Braeden and Derek had been recalled to help Laura and Peter deal with the fallout from Kate Argent’s death, and she’d not seen either of them since the hospital.

On the other hand, Theo had proven to be shockingly good with newborn babies, far more experienced than either her or Stiles. (Not that that was so hard, since neither of them had spent even a minute around babies before Mimi.) But apparently Theo had been hired on multiple occasions to help “care” for new omega parents and was completely comfortable with everything from diapering, to baby baths, to fixing bottles. Without her asking, he’d basically moved in, spending nights sleeping between her and Stiles, fetching Mimi when she woke at night to nurse and quietly taking care of groceries and meals and even cleaning.

Their talk Christmas night had somehow cleared the air, and she found herself feeling more and more comfortable relying on Theo, to a degree she’d never been able to feel with Derek. Derek was just so self-sacrificing, like he couldn’t quite believe he had a right to be taken care of himself—it was hard not to worry about taking advantage of him.

But Theo had been open about having an agenda—to earn a place in her pack. And she’d somehow come round to accepting that he really did want that, that a place in her ( _yeah right_ ) pack might be something that an Alpha sex worker with no family _would_ want. The upshot was that he was rapidly evolving into an equal partner together with her and Stiles in their little household.

Lydia set the timer for the mini-tacos just in time to hear Mimi’s soul-rending wail, which they’d all learned meant “FEED ME NOW!!!!”

The three of them shared a laugh at their tiny omega drama queen, and Lydia went and sat on the couch and pulled aside her Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress, which had proven to be the perfect design for nursing, as Theo brought Mimi over. He kissed her on the mouth and then went over to check on Stiles, who was definitely benefitting from the unlimited contact from an Alpha.

After a dozen night feedings when she’d been barely lucid, Lydia had gotten over the weirdness of basically having to smash her daughter’s open mouth against her breast to get her to latch on (as well as stop howling). Mimi always acted like she was ravenous from a multi-day fast, but in fact she was an excellent nurser, who’d had a full meal all of two hours ago.

Lydia had felt skeptical of all the glowing mommy-blogger posts about the joys of breastfeeding, but to her surprise, she’d discovered that at least for her, the endorphin rush was not a myth. Sinking back into the couch, she felt calm and deeply in tune, both with Mimi and somehow with the universe.

A moment later Stiles plopped down next to her, as always fascinated by the wonders of Mimi’s nursing. Given Mimi’s feral attitude towards her food, it was probably fortunate that Stiles’ one attempt at trying breast milk had ended in him running to the sink to spit it out in horror. He kissed Mimi’s head and then her, smiling goofily. Though Stiles was as high-energy as ever, she could sense that something had settled for him, as if Mimi and Derek and maybe Theo too had repaired the broken links in the chain of his anchor, letting him trust that he really and truly had a family and a home that wouldn’t disappear.

The timer rang for the mini-tacos just as there was a warning knock on the door, followed by the sound of the key in the lock. Theo took care of the food while Stiles played host. There was a flurry of coats and chatter, which finally resolved into Braeden and her two youngest foster siblings, Corey and Hayden, along with Hayden’s boyfriend, an Alpha named Liam, all three of whom had graduated from high school this past June.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles asked in lieu of saying hello.

“He said he’d be here later,” Braeden answered.

“Everything okay?” Theo asked.

“He’s fine, just Peter’s usual bullshit,” Braeden said.

There was a slightly awkward pause which was interrupted when Hayden punched Corey’s arm. Corey licked his lips and said, “Um, we brought these.” He held out a box.

“Idiot. Not _we_ , you,” Hayden snapped. Lydia knew from Braeden that Corey was the shyest of her siblings, while Hayden was by far the most difficult, but for reasons their Alpha sister couldn’t fathom, they were completely inseparable.

“I, uh, I made them. They’re from the bakery—where I work,” Corey said, blushing furiously when Theo took the box from him.

“They’re cupcakes,” Hayden put in, obviously getting impatient with her brother’s hesitation. “And Liam and I brought gifts too.” She held out a gift wrapped messily in pink tissue paper.

“Oh, lovely, thank you so much—Stiles, maybe you could open it,” Lydia said, since she didn’t have a free hand while she was nursing and it seemed like they expected it.

Stiles took the gift and sat down next to her to open it. “The rattle is from me,” Liam put in the moment the paper was off, earning his own punch from Hayden.

Man, these three—they made her feel positively matronly. She was only three years older!

Stiles held the package up to show her a _Frozen_ -themed baby rattle that she’d seen at Walgreen’s resting on top of a green and yellow patchwork baby quilt, not new but obviously lovingly preserved.

“It was Braeden’s,” Hayden said. “Our mom made it. She got it out of storage. She said to tell you it’s been washed with the special baby detergent.”

“Oh my god.” Lydia’s eyes burned for a second before she recovered (she still blamed the hormones!) “Thank you–all of you. Liam, the rattle is adorable, and the quilt—it’s amazing! This was yours?” she asked Braeden.

“Don’t look at me—I’d totally forgotten about it. This was all Mom and Hayden.”

“It’s just perfect—Mimi, look at what your Aunt Hayden brought!” Hayden looked like she might keel over with joy at being called Aunt. “It’s a special blanket made by your…Uh, does your mom have a preference on what to be called?”

Hayden and Corey were instantly serious and started up a whispered debate, which they tried unsuccessfully to bring Braeden into.

When it started to get heated, Braeden sighed, “Just call her!”

Lydia wanted to protest that it could wait, but it was obviously too urgent a matter to wait even a second.

While the brother and sister stepped aside to make the all-important call, Stiles got up to get Theo’s phone so they could start up “the Party Time Player” in its “cocktail” non-light-flashing mode,” leaving the couch free for Braeden to sit down and give her and Mimi a kiss.

Liam, who’d been left at loose ends because of the call, drifted over to see what Stiles was doing. They were almost instantly engaged in their own debate about what music they should play, with Stiles suddenly adamant that they use Theo’s playlist, which the Alpha had made specially for the party, though Stiles had complained several times that Theo got to make the last list too. Liam for his part suggested four separate times that they should use a list off Hayden’s phone.  

She assumed Stiles prevailed as strains of Stevie Nicks singing ‘Gold Dust Woman’ filled the room.

“Gold Dust Woman?” she said to Theo as he took advantage of the lull around the sofa to bring over a plate of mini-quiches. He winked and popped one in her mouth since Mimi was still nursing furiously.

She mouthed, “You okay?” at him, but he just laughed. He really seemed to be going out of his way to let her know that he was not one of the people in her life that she needed to worry about. She didn’t have words for what a relief that was. Though in general he and Braeden were nothing alike, in that one small way he resembled her.

Corey and Hayden returned looking like they’d just been spared a world-ending catastrophe as they said together, “Grandma.”

Lydia felt a pang wondering what name her mom might have liked, but she suppressed it quickly: there would be no sobbing on Mimi’s seven-day birthday.

“Hear that, Mimi,” she said. “ _Grandma_ sent you this gorgeous quilt she made for your Alpha-mommy.” Mimi, showing her precocious brilliance, took that as her cue to unlatch and was bearing the placid expression she usually did after a big meal. “She’s all done,” Lydia told the group. “Anyone want to help burp her?”

“Oh my god, can we?” Hayden cried, while Corey said, “Really?”

Braeden smirked and got up to make room for her siblings, who were obviously suffering from a massive case of omega baby-fever. Lydia showed them each how to rest Mimi on their shoulder and rub her back, and how to tell when the all-important burp had taken place. That done, she left Auntie Hayden holding Mimi, and got up herself to give Braeden a proper welcome kiss.

“Really, you should get first dibs on holding our daughter, but your siblings are hard to say no to,” she murmured.

“Plenty of time,” Braeden said, wrapping her arms around Lydia.

“That was so sweet of them to bring gifts.”

“I think they called me six times this week wanting to discuss it—like I wasn’t up to my ears between Peter and Gerard Argent. They would have gotten something no matter what, but when they heard about the apartment, the whole thing rose to the level of a summit between heads of state. Last time I fielded this many calls was when Corey and Hayden were trying to figure out who they should get to take them to Junior Prom.”

Lydia laughed. She knew they drove Braeden crazy, but god, it sounded so fun to have siblings. It explained why they were so nervous: since Stiles was effectively living with her, they’d decided to offer his apartment to Corey and Hayden on the condition that he could continue to keep his stuff there. She couldn’t blame them for worrying about it.

She noticed that Stiles and Liam were engaged in a heated discussion over by the “Party Time Player”—she prayed it was still about music and that Liam wasn’t one of those Californians who had an opinion about the New York Mets.

Just in case, maybe now would be a good time for a little tour. “Hey Stiles, why don’t you show Corey and Hayden your apartment, before Derek gets here.”

“Oh, yeah, sure—you guys want to see it?”

“Oh my god, really? That’d be amazing!” Hayden said.

Lydia retrieved Mimi, while Stiles took Corey and Hayden across the hall, with Liam of course trailing along.

With the teenagers gone, the apartment was unexpectedly peaceful. Lydia and Braeden sat together on the sofa so Braeden could finally hold Mimi.

“God, Lyds, she’s so beautiful,” Braeden said softly.

“There’s been a big debate on who she looks like—Stiles of course is arguing she looks like me, while I said you.”

“Theo, what did you say?” Braeden asked.

“A debate between Stiles and Lydia? You’d better believe I played it safe.”

“I take it that would mean she looks like both of us—good choice,” Braeden laughed. “I just hope she’s as brilliant as her amazing omega mom.”

“She’s definitely as loud,” Theo winked, and brought over a plate of hot samosas.

Stiles’ apartment being approximately the size of a postage stamp, the tour didn’t take long. The group came back in, making enough noise for ten teenagers. Luckily, Mimi had a newborn’s blessed obliviousness to everything except hunger or wet diapers.  

“I’m just saying, the place is pretty crappy,” Liam was arguing.

“Excuse me!” Stiles of course was outraged, despite saying the exact same thing every day for the last six months. “Like, you can stop insulting my place any time now. And aren’t they sleeping in a hallway or something? At least this would be private.”

“It’s a nook—and it has a curtain,” Liam insisted.

“A beaded curtain,” Corey said quietly.

“All I said is that it isn’t that great,” Liam repeated.

“Oh my god, who the fuck is this kid, anyway?” Stiles snorted.

Though in the normal scheme of things, Lydia would feel the need to stop an argument in the name of making a guest comfortable, she saw no reason to now. Liam was absolutely adorable, but he was also a pugnacious little Alpha shit.

Far more interesting to her was Stiles’ reaction to him. Around new Alphas, Stiles almost always slid into one of two modes—needy slut or defiant brat. But there was none of that with Liam: Stiles was genuinely irritated and not remotely attracted to him that she could tell. It was the first time she’d ever seen him react to an Alpha purely based on personality, as opposed to dynamic. She couldn’t help feeling like it was a healthy development.

He’d already been thrown off kilter by his interactions with Braeden. Most Alphas couldn’t resist Stiles’ need to be topped, but Braeden seemed unaffected. In fact, Braeden was the only Alpha Lydia had ever met who seemed to have no need to dominate others, whether omegas or other Alphas—and this despite having a badass reputation that rivaled Derek’s. Lydia was convinced that was the key to the unconventionality Peter had remarked on—and that she had Braeden’s mom to thank for it.  

And it said something about the rippling effects of _Grandma’s_ method of bringing up her kids that Liam apparently had no problem getting into it with an omega. “Look, I have a right to my opinion,” he snapped at Stiles. “You don’t have to get your panties in a twist.”

Stiles was taking a deep breath to give that the response it deserved, when Hayden shouted, “Oh my god, Liam shut up! It’s a room with a door that locks! I am sick of having sex in your car.”

“Guys, TMI. You’re guests here,” Braeden said mildly, making Corey giggle.

Luckily for everyone, Derek arrived then carrying two large shopping bags, which he put down just in time to catch Stiles as he jumped into his arms.

“I was so worried about you,” Stiles said, kissing him frantically.

Poor Derek looked almost gobsmacked by that. Did no one ever tell him they were worried about him? Lydia went up and kissed him deeply, holding both him and Stiles close, reveling in the relief of having both of them home safe, and without that horrible rift between them.

He blinked like he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of people. “I’m sorry I’m late. Happy New Years—I hope you’re all well,” he said with that ridiculous politeness of his, which they were going to knock out of him one of these days.

“We’re perfect now that you’re here,” Lydia said.

“I brought some Champagne—I thought you might want to celebrate,” he said almost apologetically.

She patted his cheek—he’d figure it out someday.

She and Theo took over the shopping bags so that Stiles could drag Derek over to the couch to say happy birthday to Mimi, and be introduced to Braeden’s siblings.

In Lydia’s experience, “I brought Champagne” usually meant a bottle of Korbel, or if you were lucky, Prosecco, but this being Derek, it meant six bottles of _Louis Roederer—_ her and Peter’s favorite. At least he’d brought the Brut and not the Cristal. Lydia really couldn’t tolerate serving Stiles, Liam, Hayden and Corey cups of $200-a-bottle Champagne in lieu of their usual, Pabst Blue Ribbon. And since he was the world’s most considerate Alpha, Derek had thought to get two packages of plastic Champagne flutes, so they wouldn’t be forced to toast Mimi from their six coffee mugs.

While Theo popped the cork and started pouring the Champagne, she put out Corey’s cupcakes on another plate.

“So I already told Stiles, we are only subjecting ourselves to singing ‘Happy Birthday’ on actual birthdays,” she announced as she passed out the cupcakes. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have cake. These are courtesy of Corey!”

As soon as Theo had handed everyone a flute, Stiles shouted, “To Mimi! Happy one week birthday.”

“To Mimi!” everyone except Mimi called back.

“And to Mimi’s pack,” Theo added.

Since Mimi had just eaten, Lydia figured it was safe to have a glass of Champagne: the books said to wait two hours after an alcoholic drink before breastfeeding, and anyway, she wasn’t about to pass up a glass of _Louis Roederer_. If her daughter absolutely had to eat before then, Theo or Stiles could just give her a bottle.

She took a bite of the cupcake and was amazed to taste _Dulce de Leche_ in the frosting. “Corey, my god, these are delicious! I’ve never had _Dulce de Leche_ in a cake before. ”

“Thank you,” he said, blushing. “I actually had to come up with a recipe myself, but the manager liked them so much she wants to add them permanently.” He really was a sweetheart.

“That’s great—good for you. It’s my absolute favorite. You should get Stiles to tell you the story of what happened when he went out on Christmas Eve to get me _Dulce de Leche_ ice cream.”

Over on the other side of the room, she heard Liam arguing with Hayden, “I’m just saying, he should have brought the chocolate.”

“You’re just saying that because they’re _your_ favorite!” Hayden snapped back.

“I am not! Everyone says those are his best!”

“Braeden said Lydia likes _Dulce de Leche_!” Hayden hissed.

Braeden said quietly, “I say you show these brats the door—you do not have to let them live with you.”

“Oh, they’re living here,” Lydia said.

“At least you’re getting the whole sordid picture,” Braeden said.

“I’m getting these amazing cupcakes.” Lydia squeezed Corey’s hand.

“Guys,” Theo said. “Derek has an announcement.” Theo nodded encouragingly to Derek, who looked horribly pained. Lydia had no idea what this could be about.

“Um, I guess I should have said something about this earlier,” Derek mumbled. “But, ah, well, it turns out that the pack owns this building.”

“What?” This wasn’t Hale territory.

“A few years back, we were thinking of expanding our territory and quietly bought a number of buildings in Beacon Hills through a shell corporation.”

Oh god, Lydia easily read the truth in Derek’s miserable expression. It must have been the Hale pack’s attempt to expand their holdings that precipitated the Argents’ attack. Saner heads than Gerard Argent’s would have felt the need to retaliate against such an aggressive move, not that any reputable pack would ever in a million years bomb a wedding reception. But it did explain why the Argents hit the Hales so hard.

“We had to keep it quiet, obviously, so we had nothing to do with managing them. But since…last week, Peter and Laura decided that we could begin to claim the buildings outright. That part’s not important. The announcement is that yesterday, I finalized the transfer of ownership of this building.” He held out a file folder to her and Stiles. “It’s now in both of your names.”

She and Stiles just stared at him and each other, speechless. Derek looked alarmed and added, “You should know that I spoke to a contractor and it wouldn’t be hard to reconfigure the units, combine them to make bigger apartments as part of a real renovation. Also, only six of the nine units are occupied, including yours and Theo’s, and I gave notice to the other tenants that you might want to reclaim them, but that we could arrange to move them to one of our other buildings for the same rent.”

Poor Stiles looked like he might faint so she squeezed his hand. “You knew about this,” she said to Theo.

“Pack needs a territory,” he said smugly.

“Derek, I don’t know what to say—this is incredible.” She knew he’d be uncomfortable if she started gushing thanks, so she just pulled Stiles up and went and hugged him. “This really is our home, all of us,” she whispered to both of them.

Derek nodded awkwardly. Stiles still hadn’t said a word. It was a huge thing to take in, with financial and emotional ramifications that neither of them could begin to digest. She knew that in the long run having a solid, permanent home would end up being the best thing in the world for Stiles, but right now she suspected the news was also triggering all sorts of memories about whatever home he’d had and lost.

Leave it to Liam to rescue the moment from bad memories or Derek-Hale-inflicted awkwardness. “So I guess this means you won’t be taking that crappy apartment. Good,” he said in a completely audible stage whisper to Hayden, who responded quite predictably with, “Oh my god, Liam, shut up!”

Lydia couldn’t help laughing. Liam was rapidly evolving into the most entertaining person in her life, with Hayden a close second. “You are absolutely taking that apartment!” she shouted before Stiles could explode.

Theo, ever the diplomat, chose that moment to call out, “Hey guys, how about we celebrate our new Mimi-pack headquarters with a dance party?” He adjusted the “Party Time Player” so its ridiculous lights began spinning and the imitable strains of “Wobble” once again filled her apartment.

Of course Theo had read the group correctly. Hayden ran over and grabbed Corey’s hand to pull him out on the floor, yelling at Liam to follow. Stiles seemed to snap out of his shock and jumped up and gave Derek a kiss and then grabbed Theo’s hand, shouting, “Lydia, come on.”

Lydia caved to the inevitable and let herself be pulled out to the dance space. And since she had attended about 25 Bar and Bat Mitzvahs during 7th and 8th grade, she did know the steps.

In fairness to V.I.C., it felt amazing to be able to dance after all her weeks on bed rest, even if it was only the “Wobble Dance.” Meanwhile, Corey and Hayden yelled at Braeden to come dance too.

“Lame, guys,” Braeden joked.

“Fuck you, it’s not,” Hayden protested. She and Liam looked incredibly offended, while Stiles shouted, “What are you talking about—this is the greatest!”

Braeden smirked but passed Mimi over to Derek, so she could join her brother and sister.

Derek did not look unhappy to be the only one not doing the Wobble Dance. He circled the group, murmuring to Mimi, with that rare, glorious smile on his face.

As the song wound down, Theo said with a wink, “ _This_ one’s for you and Braeden, Lydia.”

Yes! It was “Family Affair” by Mary J. Blige, definitely a song Lydia could get down to. Before she could even turn, Braeden was behind her, pulling her in close, gently guiding her so they could move together. _God was that hot_. They’d never had the chance to dance together before and of course her gorgeous lover was as sexy and confident dancing as she seemed to be at everything else. But before Lydia could start to feel insecure, Braeden nibbled at her neck and murmured, “Any way we could kick the roommates out for an hour or two?”

Lydia realized that Stiles was staring at them, his eyes glazed. It was probably totally vain of her, but her heart soared at feeling sexy and desirable after all those months of feeling blobby and uncomfortable.

“I’m pretty sure we could go down to Theo’s, let the boys babysit for a bit.”

“Now that you’ve given the brats that room I was worried we’d be the ones in a car.” Lydia shivered—it really turned her on that Braeden so obviously wanted her. When she looked up, she saw Theo wink at her—damned Alpha scent. She realized he was holding Mimi now, while Stiles dragged Derek out on the floor with him.

She nodded at Theo, whom she was sure had just made that happen. It was funny how effortlessly she and Theo had slipped into continual, wordless communication. They seemed to function seamlessly as partners.

_And oh my god, did Stiles and Derek look sexy dancing together._

“Family Affair” by Mary J. Blige gave way to her all-time favorite, “Good Times” by Chic. How did Theo do it? He really had a gift when it came to “Party Time” playlists. Corey and Hayden squealed and forced Braeden to join them for what was obviously a favorite of their family too. Stiles was on top of her in a second pulling her between him and Derek.

Theo came close with Mimi, who was sleeping contentedly through her very own dance party, no doubt the first of many thanks to the “Party Time Player,” which at this rate would end up being one the most inspired gifts she’d ever received.

 _Good Times, these are the good times_  
_Leave your cares behind…._

What a difference a week could make. This time Christmas Eve, she’d lain in bed clutching Derek, waiting for news that Stiles was safe from Kate Argent. And roughly an hour later, Peter had announced that he was taking away any chance for her to achieve a lifelong dream….

 _Time marches on, just can't wait_  
_The clock keeps turning, why hesitate…_

Neither of those seemed important now. Stiles was safe and Kate was dead. Peter wasn’t here, and right now his bullshit Alpha politics felt deeply irrelevant to her life. Watching her tiny omega daughter sleeping, she felt like their power had always been based on a profound illusion—because in the end what was it? Revenge, hate, the power to kill? It could wipe away, but it left _nothing_ behind it.

 _You silly fool, you can't change your fate_  
_Let's cut the rug, little jive and jitterbug_  
_We want the best, we won't settle for less_

The true, substantial elements of her life were clicking into place in ways that she could scarcely comprehend. Stiles, Derek, Theo, Braeden, Corey, Hayden, Liam. Seven people who had no blood ties between them, and yet they’d been drawn here.

 _Our new state of mind, these are the good times_  
_Happy days are here again_  
_The time is right for makin' friends_

She’d given birth to Mimi, but somehow Mimi had given birth to them—her own family. What had Theo called it? The Mimi-pack. Braeden was right: Peter couldn’t have created this, and he couldn’t destroy it either. Mimi didn’t even have to try: she could do all of this just by existing. Good times, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am marking this as complete, but I am thinking of adding some extra scenes, e.g. Theo meeting Stiles and Lydia for the first time, Theo's "interview" with Peter, so stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always hugely appreciated. This is finished. I'm hoping to post a chapter every other day. 
> 
> A few notes on the omegaverse here: It's a little different than in my other fics. The basic idea is that when omegas are given a choice, they are usually pansexual and polyamorous, preferring to have sexual relationships with anyone they are close to, whether omega or Alpha. Though they may form especially significant romantic relationships, that would not usually imply monogamy. They are also pretty sexually voracious, and if they go too long without intimate contact, they can suffer from "omega touch starvation." An "old school" pack like the Hales wholeheartedly supports these aspects of omega behavior. However packs like the Argents favor "Alpha-rule" morality--here associated with the major monotheistic, patriarchal religions--which insists on monogamy and obedience from omegas, in addition to upholding virginity and chastity as ideals. 
> 
> Any omega can be impregnated by being knotted by any Alpha--gender is not the determinant. I said nothing about heats. Feel free to imagine them occurring, but they are not necessary to getting pregnant. Likewise, I presume betas exist, but I made no mention of them in this story. 
> 
> In keeping with the La Bohème/Rent theme, the Beacon Hills here would be closer in scale to a major city rather than the one on the show. 
> 
> I made up an 8tracks playlist of music featured in the story, as well as a few tracks that seemed especially appropriate, including a beloved aria from La Bohème (though not the classic by Queen, cuz I don't actually like it that much and despite the title I didn't listen to it while writing this.) I did include two tracks off the Dandy Warhol's 'Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia,' which I listened to obsessively. Unfortunately, I could not include any tracks from Rent because they all had DRM attached--which bummer. Here's the link:  
> [Bohème Rhapsody](http://8tracks.com/liliaford/boheme-rhapsody/)
> 
> I also did up a Pinterest Board for the story including pictures of our cast along with the Maison Robe, Lydia's pink polyester robe, garrets, etc.: Here's the link:  
> [Bohème Rhapsody](https://www.pinterest.com/liliaford/fanfiction-boh%C3%A8me-rhapsody/)
> 
> I officially give permission to list this on Goodreads or anywhere else. For my thoughts on that controversy, here's my [blog post](http://liliaford.tumblr.com/post/116595379216/love-lost/)


End file.
